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THE  RAID  OF  THE 
GUERILLA 


SECOND  EDITION 


Copyright,  1909,  by  Hiirper 


HE    INSISTED    THAT   THEY    SHOULD    SHAKE    HANDS    AS    ON    A 
SOLEMN    COMPACT 


THE   RAID  OF 
THE  GUERILLA 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 


BT 
CHARLES    EGBERT  CRADDOCK 


TUB  run  MaMMirrtA*."  "TWB  nwmrr  or  TW«  «uu* 

•MOKT    MCXTWTAtm.-    MB. 


ITtlA 
HUIBBBT  Dmnow  AMD  RBOIIOTON  Sciitmjm 


PHILADKLPHIA   A    LONDON 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

10H 


Copyright,  1911,  by  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company 
Copyright,  1912,  by  J.  B.  Lippincott  Companv 


Published  May,    1912 


Printed  by  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company 

At  the  Washington  Square  Press 

Philadelphia,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA  7 

WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN  ? 52 

THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 78 

UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY   109 

THE  LOST  GUIDON 138 

WOLF'S  HEAD   166 

His  UNQUIET  GHOST  200 

A  CHILHOWEE  LILY  242 

THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA  272 

THE  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE.  .  .  .307 


258621 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

HE  INSISTED  THAT  THEY  SHOULD  SHAKE  HANDS  AS  ON  A 
SOLEMN  COMPACT Frontispiece 

HE  CAME  UP  LIKE  A  WHIRLWIND 30 

THE  UNITED  WEIGHT  AND  IMPETUS  OF  THE  ONSET  BURST 
THE  FLIMSY  DOORS  INTO  FRAGMENTS 232 

WITH  ONE  HAND  HOLDING  BACK  HER  DENSE  YELLOW 
HAIR    .     ,    .    SHE  LOOKED  UP  AT  HIM.  .  .  236 


THE  RAID  OF  THE 
GUERILLA 

Judgment  day  was  coming  to  Tanglefoot 
Cove — somewhat  in  advance  of  the  expecta 
tion  of  the  rest  of  the  world.  Immediate 
doom  impended.  A  certain  noted  guerilla, 
commanding  a  reckless  troop,  had  declared  a 
stern  intention  of  raiding  this  secluded  nook 
among  the  Great  Smoky  Mountains,  and  its 
denizens  could  but  tremble  at  the  menace. 

Few  and  feeble  folk  were  they.  The  volun 
teering  spirit  rife  in  the  early  days  of  the 
Civil  War  had  wrought  the  first  depletion  in 
the  number.  Then  came,  as  time  wore  on,  the 
rigors  of  the  conscription,  with  an  extension 
of  the  limits  of  age  from  the  very  young  to 
the  verge  of  the  venerable,  thus  robbing,  as 
was  said,  both  the  cradle  and  the  grave. 
Now  only  the  ancient  weaklings  and  the  frail 
callow  remained  of  the  male  population 
among  the  women  and  girls,  who  seemed  mere 
supernumeraries  in  the  scheme  of  creation, 
rated  by  the  fitness  to  bear  arms. 

So  feeble  a  community  of  non-combatants 
might  hardly  compass  a  warlike  affront  cal- 

1 


THE  RAIl)  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

culated  to  warrant  reprisal,  but  the  pre 
dominant  Union  spirit  of  East  Tennessee  was 
all  a-pulse  in  the  Cove,  and  the  deed  was  no 
trifle. 

"  'T  war  Ethelindy's  deed,"  her  grand 
father  mumbled,  his  quivering  lips  close  to 
the  knob  of  his  stick,  on  which  his  palsied, 
veinous  hands  trembled  as  he  sat  in  his  arm 
chair  on  the  broad  hearth  of  the  main  room 
in  his  little  log  cabin. 

Ethelinda  Brusie  glanced  quickly,  fur 
tively,  at  his  pondering,  wrinkled  old  face 
under  the  broad  brim  of  his  white  wool  hat, 
which  he  still  wore,  though  indoors  and  with 
the  night  well  advanced.  Then  she  fixed  her 
anxious,  excited  blue  eyes  once  more  on  the 
flare  of  the  fire. 

"  Lawd!  ye  jes'  now  fund  that  out,  dad!  " 
exclaimed  her  widowed  mother,  busied  in  her 
evening  task  of  carding  wool  on  one  side  of 
the  deep  chimney,  built  of  clay  and  sticks, 
and  seeming  always  the  imminent  prey  of 
destruction.  But  there  it  had  stood  for  a 
hundred  years,  dispensing  light  and  warmth 
and  cheer,  itself  more  inflammable  than  the 
great  hickory  logs  that  had  summer  still 

8 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

among  their  fibres  and  dripped  sap  odorously 
as  they  sluggishly  burned. 

Ethelinda  cast  a  like  agitated  glance  on 
the  speaker,  then  her  gaze  reverted  to  the 
fire.  She  had  the  air  of  being  perched  up,  as 
if  to  escape  the  clutching  wavesj  of  calamity, 
as  she  sat  on  a  high,  inverted  ^splint  basket, 
her  feet  not  touching  the  puncheons  of  the 
rude  floor,  one  hand  drawing  close  about  her 
the  red  woollen  skirt  of  her  dress.  She 
seemed  shrunken  even  from  her  normal  small 
size,  and  she  listened  to  the  reproachful 
recital  of  her  political  activity  with  a  shrink 
ing  dismay  on  her  soft,  roseate  face. 

"  Nuthin'  would  do  Ethelindy,"  her 
granny  lifted  an  accusatory  voice,  still  knit 
ting  briskly,  though  she  looked  rebukingly 
over  her  spectacles  at  the  cowering  girl, 
' '  when  that  thar  Union  dee-tachmmt  rid  into 
Tanglefoot  Cove  like  a  rat  into  a  trap " 

"  Yes,"  interposed  Mrs.  Brusie,  "  through 
mistakin'  it  fur  Greenbrier  Cove." 

"  Nuthin7  would  do  Ethelindy  but  she  mus' 
up  an'  offer  to  show  the  officer  the  way  out 
by  that  thar  cave  what  tunnels  through  the 
spur  of  the  mounting  down  todes  the  bluffs, 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

what  scarcely  one  o'  the  boys  left  in  the  Cove 
would  know  now. ' ' 

"  Else  he'd  hev  been  capshured,"  Ethel- 
inda  humbly  submitted. 

"  Yes  " — the  ruffles  of  her  grandmother's 
cap  were  terrible  to  view  as  they  wagged  at 
her  with  the  nodding  vehemence  of  her  pre 
lection — "  an'  you  will  be  capshured  now." 

The  girl  visibly  winced,  and  one  of  the 
three  small  boys  lying  about  the  hearth,  shar 
ing  the  warm  flags  with  half  a  dozen  dogs, 
whimpered  aloud  in  sympathetic  fright.  The 
others  preserved  a  breathless,  anxious 
silence. 

11  You-uns  mus'  be  powerful  keerful  ter 
say  nuthin'  'bout  Ethelindy's  hand  in  that 
escape  of  the  Fed'ral  cavalry  " — the  old 
grandfather  roused  himself  to  a  politic  moni 
tion.  "  Mebbe  the  raiders  won't  find  it  out 
— an'  the  folks  in  the  Cove  dun 'no'  who  done 
it,  nuther." 

"  Yes,  bes'  be  keerful,  sure,"  the  gran- 
dame  rejoined.  "  Fur  they  puts  wimmin 
folks  in  jail  out  yander  in  the  flat  woods ;  ' ' 
still  glibly  knitting,  she  jerked  her  head 
toward  the  western  world  outside  the  limits 
of  the  great  ranges.  "  Whenst  I  war  a  gal 

10 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

I  war  acquainted  with,  a  woman  what  pizened 
her  husband,  an'  they  kep'  her  in  jail  a  con 
sider  'ble  time — a  senseless  thing  ter  do,  ter 
jail  her,  ter  my  mind,  fur  he  war  a  shif  less 
no- 'count  fool,  an'  nobody  but  her  would  hev 
put  up  with  him  ez  long  ez  she  did.  The 
jedge  an'  jury  thunk  the  same,  fur  they 
'lowed  ez  she  war  crazy — an'  so  she  war,  ter 
hev  ever  married  him!  They  turned  her 
loose,  but  she  never  got  another  husband — I 
never  knowed  a  man-person  but  what  was 
skittish  'bout  any  onhealthy  meddlin'  with  his 
vittles." 

She  paused  to  count  the  stitches  on  her 
needles,  the  big  shadow  of  her  cap-ruffles 
bobbing  on  the  daubed  and  chinked  log  walls 
in  antic  mimicry,  while  down  Ethelinda  's  pink 
cheeks  the  slow  tears  coursed  at  the  prospect 
of  such  immurement. 

"  Jes'    kase    I    showed    a    stranger    his 
path " 

"  An'  two  hundred  an'  fifty  mo' — spry, 
good-lookin'  youngsters,  able  to  do  the  rebs  a 
power  o'  damage." 

"  I  war  'feared  they'd  git  capshured. 
That  man,  the  leader,  he  stopped  me  down 
on  the  bank  o'  the  creek  whar  I  war  a-huntin' 

11 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

of  the  cow,  an'  he  axed  'bout  the  roads  out'n 
the  Cove.  An'  I  tole  him  thar  war  no  way 
out  'ceptin'  by  the  road  he  had  jes'  come, 
an'  a  path  through  a  sorter  cave  or  tunnel 
what  the  creek  had  washed  out  in  the  spur  o ' 
the  mounting,  ez  could  be  travelled  whenst 
the  channel  war  dry  or  toler'ble  low.  An' 
he  axed  me  ter  show  him  that  underground 
way." 

"  An'  ye  war  full  willin',"  said  Mrs. 
Brusie,  in  irritation, ' '  though  ye  knowed  that 
thar  guerilla,  Ackert,  hed  been  movin'  heaven 
an'  earth  ter  overhaul  Tolhurst's  command 
before  they  could  reach  the  main  body.  An' 
hyar  they  war  cotched  like  a  rat  in  a  trap. ' ' 

11  I  was  sure  that  the  Cornfeds,  ez  hed  seen 
them  lope  down  inter  the  Cove,  would  be 
waitin'  ter  capshur  them  when  they  kem  up 
the  road  agin — I  jes'  showed  him  how  ter 
crope  out  through  the  cave,"  Ethelinda 
sobbed. 

"  How  in  perdition  did  they  find  thar  way 
through  that  thar  dark  hole? — I  can't  sense 
that!  "  the  old  man  suddenly  mumbled. 

"  They  had  lanterns  an'  some  pine-knots, 
grandad,  what  they  lighted,  an'  the  leader 
sent  a  squad  ter  '  reconnoitre,'  ez  he  called 

12 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

Ft.  An'  whilst  lie  waited  lie  stood  an'  talked 
ter  me  about  the  roads  in  Greenbrier  an'  the 
lay  o'  the  land  over  thar.  He  war  full  per- 
lite  an'  genteel." 

"I'll  be  bound  ye  looked  like  a  *  crazy 
Jane,'  "  cried  the  grandmother,  with  sud 
den  exasperation.  "  Yer  white  sun-bonnet 
plumb  off  an'  a-hangin'  down  on  yer  shoul 
ders,  an'  yer  yaller  hair  all  a-blowsin'  at 
loose  eends,  stiddier  bein'  plaited  up  stiff 
an'  tight  an'  personable,  an'  yer  face  burned 
pink  in  the  sun,  stiddier  like  yer  skin  giner- 
ally  looks,  fine  an'  white  ez  a  pan  o'  fraish 
milk,  an'  the  flabby,  slinksy  skirt  o'  that 
yaller  calico  dress  'thout  no  starch  in  it, 
a-flappin'  an'  whirlin'  in  the  wind — shucks! 
I  dun 'no'  whut  the  man  could  hev  thought  o' 
you-uns,  dressed  out  that-a-way." 

"  He  war  toler'ble  well  pleased  with  me 
now,  sure!  "  retorted  Ethelinda,  stung  to  a 
blunt  self-assertion.  "  He  keered  mo'  about 
a  good-lookin'  road  than  a  good-lookin'  gal 
then.  Whenst  the  squad  kem  back  an'  re 
ported  the  passage  full  safe  for  man  an' 
beastis  the  leader  tuk  a  purse  o'  money  out'n 
his  pocket  an'  held  it  out  to  me — though  he 
said  it  '  couldn't  express  his  thanks.'  But  I 

13 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

held  my  hands  behind  me  an'  wouldn't  take 
it.  Then  he  called  up  another  man  an'  made 
him  open  a  bag,  an'  he  snatched  up  my  empty 
milk-piggin'  an'  poured  it  nigh  full  o'  green 
coffee  in  the  bean — it  be  skeerce  ez  gold  an' 
nigh  ez  precious." 

"An'  what  did  you  do  with  it,  Eth- 
elindy?  "  her  mother  asked,  significantly — 
not  for  information,  but  for  the  renewal  of 
discussion  and  to  justify  the  repetition  of  re 
bukes.  These  had  not  been  few. 

"  You  know,"  the  girl  returned,  sullenly. 

"  I  do,"  the  glib  grandmother  interposed. 
"  Ye  jes'  gin  we-uns  a  sniff  an'  a  sup,  an' 
then  ye  tuk  the  kittle  that  leaks  an '  shook  the 
rest  of  the  coffee  beans  from  out  yer  milk- 
piggin  inter  it,  an'  sot  out  an'  marched  yer- 
self  through  the  laurel — I  wonder  nuthin' 
didn't  ketch  ye!  howsomever  naught  is  never 
in  danger — an'  went  ter  that  horspital  camp 
o'  the  rebels  on  Big  Injun  Mounting — small 
pox  horspital  it  is — an'  gin  that  precious 
coffee  away  to  the  enemies  o'  yer  kentry." 

"  Nobody  comes  nor  goes  ter  that  place — 
hell  itself  ain't  so  avoided,"  said  Mrs.  Brusie, 
her  forehead  corrugated  with  sudden  recur 
rence  of  anxiety.  "  Nobody  else  in  this 

14 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

world  would  have  resked  it,  'ceptin'  that 
headin'  contrairy  gal,  Ethelindy  Brusie." 

"  I  never  resked  nuthin',"  protested 
Ethelinda.  "  I  stopped  at  the  head  of  a 
bluff  far  off,  an'  hollered  down  ter  'em  in 
the  clearin'  an'  held  up  the  kittle.  An'  two 
or  three  rebs  war  out  of  thar  tents  in  the 
clearin' — thar  be  a  good  sight  o'  new  graves 
up  thar! — an'  them  men  war  hollerin'  an' 
wavin'  me  away,  till  they  seen  what  I  war 
doin';  jes'  set  tin'  down  the  kittle  an'  star  tin' 
off." 

She  gazed  meditatively  into  the  fire,  of  set 
purpose  avoiding  the  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  and 
sought  to  justify  her  course. 

"  I  knowed  ez  we-uns  hed  got  used  ter 
doin'  'thout  coffee,  an'  don't  feel  the  need  of 
it  now.  We-uns  air  well  an'  stout,  an'  live 
in  our  good  home  an'  beside  our  own  h'a'th- 
stone;  an'  they  air  sick,  an'  pore,  an'  cast 
out,  an'  I  reckon  they  ain't  ever  been  remem 
bered  before  in  gifts.  An'  I  'lowed  the  cof 
fee,  bein'  onexpected  an'  a  sorter  extry, 
mought  put  some  fraish  heart  an'  hope  in 
'em — leastwise  show  'em  ez  God  don't  'low 
'em  ter  be  plumb  furgot." 

She  still  gazed  meditatively  at  the  fire  as 

15 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

if  it  held  a  scroll  of  her  recollections,  which 
she  gradually  interpreted  anew.  "  I  looked 
back  wunst,  an'  one  o'  them  rebs  had  sot 
down  on  a  log  an'  war  sobbin'  ez  ef  his  heart 
would  bust.  An'  another  of  'em  war  signin' 
at  me  agin  an'  agin,  like  he  was  drawin'  a 
cross  in  the  air — one  pass  down  an'  then  one 
across — an'  the  other  reb  war  jes'  laffin'  fur 
joy,  and  wunst  in  a  while  he  yelled  out: 
*  Blessin's  on  ye!  Blessin's!  Blessin's!  ' 
I  dun 'no'  how  fur  I  hearn  that  sayin'.  The 
rocks  round  the  creek  war  repeatin'  it,  whenst 
I  crossed  the  foot-bredge.  I  dun 'no  what  the 
feller  meant — mought  hev  been  crazy." 

A  tricksy  gust  stirred  at  the  door  as  if  a 
mischievous  hand  twitched  the  latch-string, 
but  it  hung  within.  There  was  a  pause.  The 
listening  children  on  the  hearth  sighed  and 
shifted  their  posture;  one  of  the  hounds 
snored  sonorously  in  the  silence. 

"  Nuthin'  crazy  thar  'ceptin'  you-uns! — •• 
one  fool  gal — that's  all!  "  said  her  grand 
mother,  with  her  knitting-needles  and  her 
spectacles  glittering  in  the  firelight.  "  That 
is  a  pest  camp.  Ye  mought  hev  cotch  the 
smallpox.  I  be  lookin'  fur  ye  ter  break  out 
with  it  any  day.  When  the  war  is  over  an' 

16 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

the  men  come  back  to  the  Cove,  none  of  'em 
will  so  much  as  look  at  ye,  with  yer  skin  all 
pock-marked — fair  an'  fine  as  it  is  now,  like 
a  pan  of  fraish  milk." 

"But,  granny,  it  won't  be  sp'ilt!  The 
camp  war  too  fur  off — an'  thar  warn't  a 
breath  o'  wind.  I  never  went  a-nigh  'em." 

"  I  dun 'no'  how  fur  smallpox  kin  travel — 
an'  it  jes'  mulls  and  mulls  in  ye  afore  it 
breaks  out — don't  it,  S 'briny?  " 

"  Don't  ax  me,"  said  Mrs.  Brusie,  with  a 
worried  air.  "  I  ain't  no  yerb  doctor,  nor 
nurse  tender,  nuther.  Ethelindy  is  beyond 
my  understandin '. ' ' 

She  was  beyond  her  own  understanding,  as 
she  sat  weeping  slowly,  silently.  The  aspect 
of  those  forlorn  graves,  that  recorded  the 
final  ebbing  of  hope  and  life  at  the  pest  camp, 
had  struck  her  recollection  with  a  most 
poignant  appeal.  Strangers,  wretches,  dying 
alone,  desolate  outcasts,  the  terror  of  their 
kind,  the  epitome  of  repulsion — they  were 
naught  to  her !  Yet  they  represented  human 
ity  in  its  helplessness,  its  suffering,  its  iso 
lated  woe,  and  its  great  and  final  mystery; 
she  felt  vaguely  grieved  for  their  sake,  and 
she  gave  the  clay  that  covered  them,  still 
3  17 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

crude  red  clods  with  not  yet  a  blade  of  grass, 
the  fellowship  of  her  tears. 

A  thrill  of  masculine  logic  stirred  uneasily 
in  the  old  man's  disused  brain.  "  Tell  me 
one  thing,  Ethelindy,"  he  said,  lifting  his 
bleared  eyes  as  he  clasped  his  tremulous 
hands  more  firmly  on  the  head  of  his  stick 
— "  tell  me  this — which  side  air  you-uns  on, 
ennyhow,  Ethelindy?  " 

"I'm  fur  the  Union, "  said  Ethelinda,  still 
weeping,  and  now  and  then  wiping  her 
sapphire  eyes  with  the  back  of  her  hand,  hard 
and  tanned,  but  small  in  proportion  to  her 
size.  "  I'm  fur  the  Union — fust  an'  last  an' 
all  the  time." 

The  old  man  wagged  his  head  solemnly 
with  a  blight  of  forecast  on  his  wrinkled, 
aged  face.  "  That  thar  sayin'  is  goin'  ter 
be  mighty  hard  ter  live  up  to  whilst  Jerome 
Ackert's  critter  company  is  a-raidin'  of  Tan 
glefoot  Cove." 

The  presence  of  the  "  critter  company  " 
was  indeed  calculated  to  inspire  a  most 
obsequious  awe.  It  was  an  expression  of 
arbitrary  power  which  one  might  ardently 
wish  directed  elsewhere.  From  the  moment 
that  the  echoes  of  the  Cove  caught  the  first 

IB 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

elusive  strain  of  the  trumpet,  infinitely  sweet 
and  clear  and  compelling,  yet  somehow 
ethereal,  unreal,  as  if  blown  down  from  the 
daylight  moon,  a  filmy  lunar  semblance  in  the 
bland  blue  sky,  the  denizens  of  Tanglefoot 
began  to  tremulously  confer  together,  and  to 
skitter  like  frightened  rabbits  from  house  to 
house.  Tanglefoot  Cove  is  some  four  miles 
long,  and  its  average  breadth  is  little  more 
than  a  mile.  On  all  sides  the  great  Smoky 
Mountains  rise  about  the  cuplike  hollow, 
and  their  dense  gigantic  growths  of  hickory 
and  poplar,  maple  and  gum,  were  aglow,  red 
and  golden,  with  the  largesse  of  the  generous 
October.  The  underbrush  or  the  jungles  of 
laurel  that  covered  the  steeps  rendered  out 
let  through  the  forests  impracticable,  and  in 
deed  the  only  road  was  invisible  save  for  a 
vague  line  among  the  dense  pines  of  a  pre 
cipitous  slope,  where  on  approach  it  would 
materialize  under  one's  feet  as  a  wheel  track 
on  either  side  of  a  line  of  frosted  weeds, 
which  the  infrequent  passing  of  wagon-beds 
had  bent  and  stunted,  yet  had  not  sufficed  to 
break. 

The  blacksmith's  shop,  the  centre  of  the 
primitive  civilization,  had  soon  an  expectant 

19 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

group  in  its  widely  flaring  doors,  for  the 
smith  had  had  enough  of  the  war,  and  had 
come  back  to  wistfully,  hopelessly  haunt  his 
anvil  like  some  uneasy  ghost  visiting  familiar 
scenes  in  which  he  no  more  bears  a  part; — 
a  minie-ball  had  shattered  his  stanch  ham 
mer-arm,  and  his  duties  were  now  merely  ad 
visory  to  a  clumsy  apprentice.  This  was  a 
half-witted  fellow,  a  giant  in  strength,  but 
not  to  be  trusted  with  firearms.  In  these 
days  of  makeweights  his  utility  had  been 
discovered,  and  now  with  the  smith's  hammer 
in  his  hand  he  joined  the  group,  his  bulging 
eyes  all  a-stare  and  his  loose  lips  hanging 
apart.  The  old  justice  of  the  peace,  whose 
office  was  a  sinecure,  since  the  war  had  run 
the  law  out  of  the  Cove,  came  with  a  punc 
tilious  step,  though  with  a  sense  of  futility 
and  abated  dignity,  and  at  every  successive 
note  of  the  distant  trumpet  these  wights  ex 
perienced  a  tense  bracing  of  the  nerves  to 
await  helplessly  the  inevitable  and,  alas !  the 
inexorable. 

"  They  say  that  he  is  a  turrible,  turrible 
man, ' '  the  blacksmith  averred,  ever  and  anon 
rubbing  the  stump  of  his  amputated  hammer- 
arm,  in  which,  though  bundled  in  its  jeans 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

sleeve,  lie  had  the  illusion  of  the  sensation  of 
its  hand  and  fingers.  He  suddenly  shaded  his 
brow  with  his  broad  palm  to  eye  that  signifi 
cant  line  which  marked  the  road  among  the 
pines  on  the  eastern  slope,  beyond  the  Indian 
corn  that  stood  tall  and  rank  of  growth  in  the 
rich  bottom-lands. 

Ethelinda's  heart  sank.  All  unprescient 
of  the  day's  impending  event,  she  had  come 
to  the  forge  with  the  sley  of  her  loom  to  be 
mended,  and  she  now  stood  holding  the  long 
shaft  in  her  mechanical  clasp,  while  she  lis 
tened  spell-bound  to  the  agitated  talk  of  the 
group.  The  boughs  of  a  great  yellow  hickory 
waved  above  her  head;  near  by  was  the 
trough,  and  here  a  horse,  brought  to  be  shod, 
was  utilizing  the  interval  by  a  draught;  he 
had  ceased  to  draw  in  the  clear,  cold  spring 
water,  but  still  stood  with  his  muzzle  close  to 
the  surface,  his  lips  dripping,  gazing  with  un- 
imagined  thoughts  at  the  reflection  of  his  big 
equine  eyes,  the  blue  sky  inverted,  the  dap 
pling  yellow  leaves,  more  golden  even  than 
the  sunshine,  and  the  glimmering  flight  of 
birds,  with  a  stellular  light  upon  their  wings. 

"  A  turrible  man? — w-w-well,"  stuttered 
the  idiot,  who  had  of  late  assumed  all  the 

21 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

port  of  coherence;  he  snatched  and  held  a 
part  in  the  colloquy,  so  did  the  dignity  of 
labor  annul  the  realization  of  his  infirmity, 
"then  I'd  be  obleeged  ter  him  ef — ef — ef  he'd 
stay  out'n  Tanglefoot  Cove." 

"  So  would  I."  The  miller  laughed  un 
easily.  But  for  the  corrugations  of  time,  one 
might  not  have  known  if  it  were  flour  or  age 
that  had  so  whitened  his  long  beard,  which 
hung  quivering  down  over  the  breast  of  his 
jeans  coat,  of  an  indeterminate  hue  under  its 
frosting  from  the  hopper.  "  He  hev  tuk  up 
a  turrible  spite  at  Tanglefoot  Cove. ' ' 

The  blacksmith  nodded.  "  They  say  that 
he  'lowed  ez  traitors  orter  be  treated  like 
traitors.  But  I  be  a-goin'  ter  tell  him  that 
the  Confederacy  hev  got  one  arm  off'n  me 
more'n  its  entitled  to,  an'  I'm  willin'  ter  call 
it  quits  at  that." 

"  'Tain't  goin'  ter  do  him  no  good  ter 
raid  the  Cove,"  an  ancient  farmer  averred; 
"  an'  it's  agin'  the  rebel  rule,  ennyhows,  ter 
devastate  the  kentry  they  live  off 'n — it's  like 
sawin'  off  the  bough  ye  air  sittin'  on."  His 
eyes  dwelt  with  a  fearful  affection  on  the 
laden  fields;  his  old  stoop-shouldered  back 
had  bent  yet  more  under  the  toil  that  had 

22 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

brought  his  crop  to  this  perfection,  with  the 
aid  of  the  children  whose  labor  was  scarcely 
worth  the  strenuosity  requisite  to  control 
their  callow  wiles. 

"  Shucks!  He's  a  guerilla — he  is!  "  re 
torted  the  blacksmith.  "  Accountable  ter  no 
body!  Hyar  ter-day  an'  thar  ter-morrer. 
Eides  light.  Two  leetle  Parrott  guns  is  the 
most  weight  he  carries." 

The  idiot 's  eyes  began  to  widen  with  slow 
and  baffled  speculation.  "  Whut — w-whut 
ails  him  ter  take  arter  Tangle-foot!  W-w — " 
his  great  loose  lips  trembled  with  unformed 
words  as  he  gazed  his  eager  inquiry  from 
one  to  another.  Under  normal  circum 
stances  it  would  have  remained  contempt 
uously  unanswered,  but  in  these  days  in 
Tanglefoot  Cove  a  man,  though  a  simpleton, 
was  yet  a  man,  and  inherently  commanded 
respect. 

"  A  bird  o'  the  air  mus'  hev  carried  the 
matter  that  Tolhurst's  troops  hed  rid  inter 
Tanglefoot  Cove  by  mistake  fur  Greenbrier, 
whar  they  war  ter  cross  ter  jine  the  Fed'rals 
nigh  the  Cohuttas.  An'  that  guerilla,  Ac- 
kert,  hed  been  ridin'  a  hundred  mile  at  a 
hand-gallop  ter  overhaul  him,  an'  knowin' 

23 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

thar  warn't  but  one  outlet  to  Tanglefoot 
Cove,  he  expected  ter  capshur  the  Feds  as 
they  kem  out  agin.  So  he  sot  himself  ter 
ambush  Tolhurst,  an'  waited  fur  him  up  thar 
amongst  the  pines  an'  the  laurel — an'  he 
waited — an'  waited!  But  Tolhurst  never 
came!  So  whenst  the  guerilla  war  sure  he 
hed  escaped  by  ways  unknownst  he  set  out 
ter  race  him  down  ter  the  Cohutty  Mountings. 
But  Tolhurst  had  j'ined  the  main  body  o'  the 
Federal  Army,  an'  now  Ackert  is  showing  a 
clean  pair  o'  heels  comin'  back.  But  he  be 
goin'  ter  take  time  ter  raid  the  Cove — his 
hurry  will  wait  fur  that!  Somebody  in 
Tanglefoot — the  Lord  only  knows  who — 
showed  Tolhurst  that  underground  way  out 
ter  Greenbrier  Cove,  through  a  sorter  cave  or 
tunnel  in  the  mountings." 

' '  Now  —  now  —  neighbor  —  that's  guess 
work,"  remonstrated  the  miller,  in  behalf  of 
Tanglefoot  Cove  repudiating  the  responsi 
bility.  Perhaps  the  semi-mercantile  occupa 
tion  of  measuring  toll  sharpens  the  faculties 
beyond  natural  endowments,  and  he  began  to 
perceive  a  certain  connection  between  cause 
and  effect  inimical  to  personal  interest. 

24 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

"  Waal,  that  is  the  way  they  went,  sar- 
tain  sure,"  protested  the  blacksmith.  "  I 
tracked  'em,  the  ground  bein'  moist,  kase  I 
wanted  ter  view  the  marks  o'  their  horses' 
hoofs.  They  hev  got  some  powerful  triflin' 
blacksmiths  in  the  army — farriers,  they  call 
'em.  I  los'  the  trail  amongst  the  rocks  an' 
ledges  down  todes  the  cave — though  it's  more 
like  one  o'  them  tunnels  we-uns  used  ter  go 
through  in  the  railroads  in  the  army,  but  this 
one  was  never  made  with  hands;  jes'  hol 
lowed  out  by  Sinking  Creek.  So  I  got  Jube 
thar  ter  crope  through,  an'  view  ef  thar 
war  any  hoof  marks  on  t'other  side  whar  the 
cave  opens  out  in  Greenbrier  Cove." 

"  An'  a  body  would  think  fur  sure  ez  the 
armies  o'  hell  had  been  spewed  out'n  that 
black  hole, ' '  said  a  lean  man  whom  the  glance 
of  the  blacksmith  had  indicated  as  Jube,  and 
who  spoke  in  the  intervals  of  a  racking  cough 
that  seemed  as  if  it  might  dislocate  his  bones 
in  its  violence.  "  Hoof  marks  hyar — hoof- 
marks  thar —  as  if  they  didn't  rightly  know 
which  way  ter  go  in  the  marshy  ground  'bout 
Sinking  Creek.  But  at  last  they  'peared  ter 
git  tergether,  an'  off  they  tracked  ter  the 

25 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

west ' '  A  paroxysm  of  coughs  intervened, 

and  the  attention  of  the  group  failed  to  fol 
low  the  words  that  they  interspersed. 

"They  tuk  a  short  cut  through  the  Cove 
— they  warn't  in  it  a  haffen  hour,"  stipulated 
the  prudent  miller.  "  They  came  an'  went 
like  a  flash.  Nobody  seen  'em  'cept  the 
Brusies,  kase  they  went  by  thar  house — an' 
ef  they  hed  hed  a  guide,  old  Eandal  Brusie 
would  hev  named  it." 

61  Ackert  'lows  he'll  hang  the  guide  ef 
he  ketches  him,"  said  the  blacksmith,  in  a 
tone  of  awe.  "  Leastwise  that's  the  word 
that's  'goin'." 

Poor  Ethelinda !  The  clutch  of  cold  hor 
ror  about  her  heart  seemed  to  stop  its  pulsa 
tions  for  a  moment.  She  saw  the  still  moun 
tains  whirl  about  the  horizon  as  if  in  some 
weird  bewitchment.  Her  nerveless  hands 
loosened  their  clasp  upon  the  sley  and  it  fell 
to  the  ground,  clattering  on  the  protruding 
roots  of  the  trees.  The  sound  attracted  the 
miller's  attention.  He  fixed  his  eyes  warily 
upon  her,  a  sudden  thought  looking  out  from 
their  network  of  wrinkles. 

"  You  didn't  see  no  guide  whenst  they 
slipped  past  you-uns'  house,  did  ye?  " 

26 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

Poor,  unwilling  casuist!  She  had  an  in 
stinct  for  the  truth  in  its  purest  sense,  the 
innate  impulse  toward  the  verities  unspoiled 
by  the  taint  of  sophistication.  Perhaps  in 
the  restricted  conditions  of  her  life  she  had 
never  before  had  adequate  temptation  to  a 
subterfuge.  Even  now,  consciously  redden 
ing,  her  eyes  drooping  before  the  combined 
gaze  of  her  little  world,  she  had  an  inward 
protest  of  the  literal  exactness  of  her  phrase. 
"  Naw  sir — I  never  seen  thar  guide. " 

"  Thar  now,  what  did  I  tell  you!  "  the 
miller  exclaimed,  triumphantly. 

The  blacksmith  seemed  convinced. 
"  Mought  hev  hed  a  map,"  he  speculated. 
"  Them  fellers  in  the  army  do  hev  maps. 
I  fund  that  out  whenst  I  war  in  the  ser 
vice.  ' ' 

The  group  listened  respectfully.  The 
blacksmith's  practical  knowledge  of  the  art 
of  war  had  given  him  the  prestige  of 
a  military  authority.  Doubtless  some  of  the 
acquiescent  wights  entertained  a  vague  won 
der  how  the  army  contrived  to  fare  onward 
bereft  of  his  advice.  And,  indeed,  despite 
his  maimed  estate,  his  heart  was  the  stoutest 
that  thrilled  to  the  iteration  of  the  trumpet. 

27 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

Nearer  now  it  was,  and  once  more  echoing 
down  the  sunset  glen. 

"  Eight  wheel,  trot — march,"  he  mut 
tered,  interpreting  the  sound  of  the  horses' 
hoofs.  "  It's  a  critter  company,  fur  sure!  " 

There  was  no  splendor  of  pageant  in  the 
raid  of  the  guerilla  into  the  Cove.  The  pines 
closing  above  the  cleft  in  the  woods  masked 
the  entrance  of  the  "  critter  company." 
Once  a  gleam  of  scarlet  from  the  guidon 
flashed  on  the  sight.  And  again  a  detached 
horseman  was  visible  in  a  barren  interval, 
reining  in  his  steed  on  the  almost  vertical 
slant,  looking  the  centaur  in  literal  presenta 
tion.  The  dull  thud  of  hoofs  made  itself  felt 
as  a  continuous  undertone  to  the  clatter  of 
stirrup  and  sabre,  and  now  and  again  rose 
the  stirring  mandate  of  the  trumpet,  with 
that  majestic,  sweet  sweep  of  sound  which  so 
thrills  the  senses.  They  were  coming  indu 
bitably,  the  troop  of  the  dreaded  guerilla — in 
deed,  they  were  already  here.  For  while  the 
sun  still  glinted  on  carbine  and  sabre  among 
the  scarlet  and  golden  tints  of  the  deciduous 
growths  and  the  sombre  green  of  the  pines 
on  the  loftier  slopes,  the  vanguard  in 
column  of  fours  were  among  the  gray 

28 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

shadows  at  the  mountains '  base  and  speed 
ing  into  the  Cove  at  a  hand-gallop,  for 
the  roads  were  fairly  good  when  once  the 
level  was  reached.  Though  so  military  a 
presentment,  for  they  were  all  veterans  in  the 
service,  despite  the  youth  of  many,  they  were 
not  in  uniform.  Some  wore  the  brown  jeans 
of  the  region,  girt  with  sword-belt  and  can 
teen,  with  great  spurs  and  cavalry  boots,  and 
broad-brimmed  hats,  which  now  and  again 
flaunted  cords  or  feathers.  Others  had  at 
tained  the  Confederate  gray,  occasionally 
accented  with  a  glimmer  of  gold  where  a 
shoulder-strap  or  a  chevron  graced  the  garb. 
And  yet  there  was  a  certain  homogeneity  in 
their  aspect.  All  rode  after  the  manner  of 
the  section,  with  the  "  long  stirrup  "  at  the 
'extreme  length  of  the  limb,  and  the  immov 
able  pose  in  the  saddle,  the  man  being  abso 
lutely  stationary,  while  the  horse  bounded  at 
agile  speed.  There  was  the  similarity  of 
facial  expression,  in  infinite  dissimilarity  of 
feature,  which  marks  a  common  sentiment, 
origin,  and  habitat.  Then,  too,  they  shared 
something  recklessly  haphazard,  gay,  de 
fiantly  dangerous,  that,  elusive  as  it  might 
be  to  describe,  was  as  definitely  perceived 

29 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

as  the  guidon,  riding  apart  at  the  left,  the 
long  lance  of  his  pennant  planted  on  his 
stirrup,  bearing  himself  with  a  certain 
stately  pride  of  port,  distinctly  official. 

The  whole  effect  was  concentrated  in  the 
face  of  the  leader,  obviously  the  inspiration 
of  the  organization,  the  vital  spark  by  which 
it  lived;  a  fierce  face,  intent,  commanding. 
It  was  burned  to  a  brick-red,  and  had  an 
aquiline  nose  and  a  keen  gray-green  eagle- 
like  eye;  on  either  side  auburn  hair,  thick 
and  slightly  curling,  hung,  after  the  fashion 
of  the  time,  to  his  coat  collar.  And  this 
collar  and  his  shoulders  were  decorated  with 
gold  lace  and  the  insignia  of  rank;  the  uni 
form  was  of  fine  Confederate  gray,  which 
seemed  to  contradict  the  general  impression 
that  he  was  but  a  free-lance  or  a  bushwhacker 
and  operated  on  his  own  responsibility.  The 
impression  increased  the  terror  his  name  ex 
cited  throughout  the  countryside  with  his 
high-handed  and  eccentric  methods  of  war 
fare,  and  perhaps  he  would  not  have  resented 
it  if  he  were  cognizant  of  its  general  accept 
ance. 

It  was  a  look  calculated  to  inspire  awe 
which  he  flung  upon  the  cowering  figures  be- 
so 


Copyright,  1909,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 

HE    CAME   UP    LIKE    A   WHIRLWIND 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

fore  the  door  of  the  forge  as  he  suddenly 
perceived  them;  and  detaching  himself  from 
the  advancing  troop,  he  spurred  his  horse 
toward  them.  He  came  up  like  a  whirlwind. 
That  impetuous  gallop  could  scarcely  have 
carried  his  charger  over  the  building  itself, 
yet  there  is  nothing  so  overwhelming  to  the 
nerves  as  the  approaching  rush  of  a  speedy 
horse,  and  the  group  flattened  themselves 
against  the  wall ;  but  he  drew  rein  before  he 
reached  the  door,  and  whirling  in  the  saddle, 
with  one  hand  on  the  horse's  back,  he  de 
manded  : 

"Where  is  he?  Bring  him  out!"  as 
if  all  the  world  knew  the  object  of  his 
search  and  the  righteous  reason  of  his  enmity. 
"  Bring  him  out !  I'll  have  a  drumhead  court 
martial — and  he'll  swing  before  sunset!  ' 

"  Good  evenin',  Cap'n,"  the  old  miller 
sought  what  influence  might  appertain  to 
polite  address  and  the  social  graces. 

"  Evenin'  be  damned!  "  cried  Ackert, 
angrily.  "  If  you  folks  in  the  coves  want 
(the  immunity  of  non-combatants,  by  Gawd! 
you  gotter  preserve  the  neutrality  of  non- 
combatants!  " 

"  Yessir — that's  reason — that's  jestice," 

31 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

said  the  old  squire,  hastily,  whose  capacities 
of  ratiocination  had  been  cultivated  by  the 
•exercise  of  the  judicial  functions  of  his 
modest  piepoudre  court. 

Acker t  unwillingly  cast  his  eagle  eye 
down  upon  the  cringing  old  man,  as  if  he 
would  rather  welcome  contradiction  than  as 
sent. 

"  It's  accordin'  to  the  articles  o'  war  and 
the  law  of  nations,"  he  averred.  "  People 
take  advantage  of  age  and  disability" — he 
glanced  at  the  blacksmith,  whose  left  hand 
mechanically  grasped  the  stump  of  his  right 
arm — "  as  if  that  could  protect  'em  in  acts  o' 
treason  an'  treachery;"  then  with  a  blast  of 
impatience,  "  Where's  the  man?  " 

To  remonstrate  with  a  whirlwind,  to 
explain  to  a  flash  of  lightning,  to  soothe  and 
propitiate  the  fury  of  a  conflagration — the 
task  before  the  primitive  and  inexpert  Cove- 
dwellers  seemed  to  partake  of  this  nature. 

"  Cap'n — ef  ye'd  listen  ter  what  I  gotter 
say,"  began  the  miller. 

"  I'll  listen  arterward!  "  exclaimed  Ac- 
kert,  in  his  clarion  voice.  He  had  never 
heard  of  Jedburgh  justice,  but  he  had  all  the 
sentiment  of  that  famous  tribunal  who 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

hanged  the  prisoners  first  and  tried  them 
afterward. 

"  Cap'n,"  remonstrated  the  blacksmith, 
breaking  in  with  hot  haste,  hurried  by  the 
commander's  gusts  of  impatience,  forgetful 
that  he  had  no  need  to  be  precipitate,  since 
he  could  not  produce  the  recusant  if  he  would. 
' '  Cap  'n — Cap  'n  —  bear  with  us  —  we-uns 
don't  know!  " 

Ackert  stared  in  snorting  amaze,  a  flush 
of  anger  dyeing  his  red  cheeks  a  yet  deeper 
red.  Of  all  the  subterfuges  that  he  had  ex 
pected,  he  had  never  divined  this.  He  shifted 
front  face  in  his  saddle,  placed  his  gauntleted 
right  hand  on  his  right  side,  and  held  his 
head  erect,  looking  over  the  wide,  rich  ex 
panse  of  the  Cove,  the  corn  in  the  field,  and 
the  fodder  in  the  shock  set  amid  the  barbaric 
splendors  of  the  wooded  autumn  mountains 
glowing  in  the  sunset  above.  He  seemed 
scenting  his  vengeance  with  some  keen  sense 
as  he  looked,  his  thin  nostrils  dilating  as  sen 
sitively  as  the  nostrils  of  his  high-couraged 
charger  now  throwing  up  his  head  to  sniff  the 
air,  now  bending  it  down  as  he  pawed  the 
ground. 

"Well,  gentlemen,  you  have  got  a  mighty 

3  33 


THE  RAID  OP  THE  GUERILLA 

pretty  piece  o'  country  here,  and  good  crops, 
too — which  is  a  credit  to  you,  seeing  that  the 
conscription  has  in  and  about  drafted  all  the 
able-bodied  mountaineers  that  wouldn't  vol 
unteer — damn  'em !  But  I  swear  by  the  right 
hand  of  Jehovah,  I  '11  burn  every  cabin  in  the 
Cove  an'  every  blade  o'  forage  in  the  fields 
if  you  don't  produce  the  man  who  guided  Tol- 
hurst's  cavalry  out'n  the  trap  I'd  chased  'em 
into,  or  give  me  a  true  and  satisfactory  ac 
count  of  him."  He  raised  his  gauntleted 
right  hand  and  shook  it  in  the  air.  "  So  help 
me  God!  " 

There  was  all  the  solemnity  of  intention 
vibrating  in  this  fierce  asseveration,  and  it 
brought  the  aged  non-combatants  forward 
in  eager  protestation.  The  old  justice  made 
as  if  to  catch  at  the  bridle  rein,  then  desisted. 
A  certain  noli  me  tangere  influence  about  the 
fierce  guerilla  affected  even  supplication,  and 
the  "  Squair  "  resorted  to  logic  as  the  more 
potent  weapon  of  the  two. 

"  Cap'n,  Cap'n,"  he  urged,  with  a 
tremulous,  aged  jaw,  "  be  pleased  to  consider 
my  words.  I'm  a  magistrate  sir,  or  I  was  be 
fore  the  war  run  the  law  clean  out  o'  the 
kentry.  We  dun 'no'  the  guide — we  never 

34 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

seen  the  troops."  Then,  in  reply  to  an  im 
patient  snort  of  negation :  "If  ye  '11  cast  yer 
eye  on  the  lay  of  the  land,  ye '11  view  how  it 
happened.  Thar's  the  road  "—he  waved 
his  hand  toward  that  vague  indentation  in 
the  foliage  that  marked  the  descent  into  the 
vale — "  an'  down  this  e-end  o'  the  Cove 
thar's  nex'  ter  nobody  livin'." 

The  spirited  equestrian  figure  was  stand 
ing  as  still  as  a  statue;  only  the  movement 
of  the  full  pupils  of  his  eyes,  the  dilation  of 
the  nostrils,  showed  how  nearly  the  matter 
touched  his  tense  nerves. 

"  Some  folks  in  the  upper  e-end  of  the 
Cove  'lowed  afterward  they  hearn  a  hawn; 
some  folks  spoke  of  a  shakin'  of  the  ground 
like  the  trompin'  of  horses — but  them  troops 
mus'  hev  passed  from  the  foot  o'  the  mount 
ing  acrost  the  aidge  of  the  Cove." 

"  Scant  haffen  mile,"  put  in  the  black 
smith,  "  down  to  a  sort  of  cave,  or  tunnel, 
that  runs  under  the  mounting — yander — 
that  lets  'em  out  into  Greenbrier  Cove." 

"Gawd!"  exclaimed  the  guerilla,  striking 
his  breast  with  his  clenched,  gauntleted  hand 
as  his  eyes  followed  with  the  vivacity  of 
actual  sight  the  course  of  the  march  of  the 

35 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

squadron  of  horse  to  the  point  of  their  trium 
phant  vanishment.  Despite  the  vehemence 
of  the  phrase  the  intonation  was  a  very  bleat 
of  desperation.  For  it  was  a  rich  and  rare 
opportunity  thus  wrested  from  him  by  an 
untoward  fate.  In  all  the  chaotic  chances  of 
the  Civil  War  he  could  hardly  hope  for  its 
repetition.  It  was  part  of  a  crack  body  of 
regulars — Tolhurst's  squadron — that  he  had 
contrived  to  drive  into  this  trap,  this  cul-de- 
sac,  surrounded  by  the  infinite  fastnesses  of 
the  Great  Smoky  Mountains.  It  had  been 
a  running  fight,  for  Tolhurst  had  orders, 
as  Ackert  had  found  means  of  knowing,  to 
join  the  main  body  without  delay,  and  his 
chief  aim  was  to  shake  off  this  persistent 
pursuit  with  which  a  far  inferior  force  had 
harassed  his  march.  But  for  his  fortuitous 
discovery  of  the  underground  exit  from  the 
basin  of  Tanglefoot  Cove,  Ackert,  ambushed 
without,  would  have  encountered  and  de 
feated  the  regulars  in  detail  as  they  clam 
bered  in  detachments  up  the  unaccustomed 
steeps  of  the  mountain  road,  the  woods  else 
where  being  almost  impassable  jungles  of 
laurel. 

Success  would  have  meant  more  to  Ac- 

36 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

kert  than  the  value  of  the  service  to  the 
cause,  than  the  tumultuous  afflatus  of  victory, 
than  the  spirit  of  strife  to  the  born  soldier. 
There  had  been  kindled  in  his  heart  a  great 
and  fiery  ambition;  he  was  one  of  the  ex 
amples  of  an  untaught  military  genius  of 
which  the  Civil  War  elicited  a  few  notable 
and  amazing  instances.  There  had  been 
naught  in  his  career  heretofore  to  suggest 
this  unaccountable  gift,  to  foster  its  develop 
ment.  He  was  the  son  of  a  small  farmer, 
only  moderately  well-to-do;  he  had  the  very 
limited  education  which  a  restricted  and  re 
mote  rural  region  afforded  its  youth ;  he  had 
entered  the  Confederate  army  as  a  private 
soldier,  with  no  sense  of  special  fitness,  no 
expectation  of  personal  advancement,  only 
carried  on  the  wave  of  popular  enthusiasm. 
But  from  the  beginning  his  quality  had  been 
felt;  he  had  risen  from  grade  to  grade,  and 
now  with  a  detached  body  of  horse  and  flying 
artillery  his  exploits  were  beginning  to  at 
tract  the  attention  of  corps  commanders  on 
both  sides,  to  the  gratulation  of  friends  and 
the  growing  respect  of  foes.  He  seemed 
endowed  with  the  wings  of  the  wind ;  to-day 
he  was  tearing  up  railroad  tracks  in  the  low- 

37 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

lands  to  impede  the  reinforcements  of  an 
army;  to-morrow  the  force  sent  with  the  ex 
press  intention  of  placing  a  period  to  those 
mischievous  activities  heard  of  his  feats 
in  burning  bridges  and  cutting  trestles  in 
remote  sections  of  the  mountains.  The 
probabilities  could  keep  no  terms  with  him, 
and  he  baffled  prophecy.  He  had  a  quick  in 
vention — a  talent  for  expedients.  He  ap 
peared  suddenly  when  least  expected  and 
where  his  presence  seemed  impossible.  He 
had  a  gift  of  military  intuition.  He  seemed 
to  know  the  enemy's  plans  before  they  were 
matured;  and  ere  a  move  was  made  to  put 
them  into  execution  he  was  on  the  ground 
with  troublous  obstacles  to  forestall  the 
event  in  its  very  inception.  He  maintained 
a  discipline  to  many  commanders  impossible. 
His  troops  had  a  unity  of  spirit  that  might 
well  animate  an  individual.  They  endured 
long  fasts,  made  wonderful  forced  marches 
on  occasion — all  day  in  the  saddle  and  nod 
ding  to  the  pommel  all  night ;  it  was  even  said 
they  fought  to  such  exhaustion  that  when 
dismounted  the  front  rank,  lying  in  line  of 
battle  prone  upon  the  ground,  would  fall 
asleep  between  volleys,  and  that  the  second 

38 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

rank,  kneeling  to  fire  above  them,  had  orders 
to  stir  them  with  their  carbines  to  insure 
regularity  of  the  musketry.  He  had  the 
humbler  yet  even  more  necessary  equipment 
for  military  success.  He  could  forage  his 
troops  in  barren  opportunities ;  they  somehow 
kept  clothed  and  armed  at  the  minimum  of 
expense.  Did  he  lack  ammunition — he  made 
shift  to  capture  a  supply  for  his  little  Par- 
rott  guns  that  barked  like  fierce  dogs  at  the 
rear-guard  of  an  enemy  or  protected  his 
own  retreat  when  it  jumped  with  his  plans 
to  compass  a  speedy  withdrawal  himself. 
His  horses  were  well  groomed,  well  fed,  fine 
travellers,  and  many  showed  the  brand  U.S., 
for  he  could  mount  his  troop  when  need  re 
quired  from  the  corrals  of  an  unsuspecting 
encampment.  He  was  the  ideal  guerilla,  of 
infinite  service  to  his  faction  in  small,  signifi 
cant  operations  of  disproportioned  impor 
tance. 

What  wonder  that  his  name  was  rife  in 
rumors  which  flew  about  the  country;  that 
soon  it  was  not  only  "  the  grapevine  tele 
graph  "  that  vibrated  with  the  sound,  but 
he  was  mentioned  in  official  despatches ;  nay, 
on  one  signal  occasion  the  importance  of  his 

39 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

dashing  exploit  was  recognized  by  the  com 
mander  of  the  Army  Corps  in  a  general  order 
published  to  specially  commend  it.  Naturally 
his  spirit  rose  to  meet  these  expanding  lib 
erties  of  achievement.  He  looked  for  fur 
ther  promotion — for  eminence.  In  a  vague 
glimmer,  growing  ever  stronger  and  clearer, 
he  could  see  himself  in  the  astral  splendor 
of  the  official  stars  of  a  major-general — for 
in  the  far  day  of  the  anticipated  success  of 
the  Confederacy  he  looked  to  be  an  officer  of 
the  line. 

And  now  suddenly  this  light  was  dimmed; 
his  laurels  were  wilting.  What  prestige 
would  the  capture  of  Tolhurst  have  con 
ferred  !  Never  had  a  golden  opportunity  like 
this  been  lost — by  what  uncovenanted  chance 
had  Tolhurst  escaped? 

"  He  must  have  had  a  guide !  Eight  here 
in  the  Cove!"  Ackert  exclaimed.  "  No 
body  outside  would  know  a  hole  in  the  ground, 
a  cave,  a  water-gap,  a  tunnel  like  that! 
Where's  the  man?  " 

"  Naw,  sir — naw,  Cap'n!  Nobody  viewed 
the  troop  but  one  gal  person  an'  she  'lowed 
she  never  seen  no  guide. ' ' 

40 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

The  charger  whirled  under  the  touch  of 
the  hand  on  the  rein,  and  Ackert's  eyes 
scanned  with  a  searching  intentness  the 
group. 

"  Where's  this  girl — you?  " 

As  the  old  squire  with  most  unwelcome 
officiousness  seized  Ethelinda's  arm  and  hur 
ried  her  forward,  her  heart  sank  within  her. 
For  one  moment  the  guerilla  7s  fiery,  piercing 
eyes  dwelt  upon  her  as  she  stood  looking  on, 
her  delicately  white  face  grown  deathly  pallid, 
her  golden  hair  frivolously  blowsed  in  the 
wind,  which  tossed  the  full  skirts  of  her  lilac- 
hued  calico  gown  till  she  seemed  poised  on 
the  very  wings  of  flight.  Her  sapphire  eyes, 
bluer  than  ever  azure  skies  could  seem, 
sought  to  gaze  upward,  but  ever  and  anon 
their  long-lashed  lids  fluttered  and  fell. 

He  was  quick  of  perception. 

"You  have  no  call  to  be  afraid,"  he  re 
marked — a  sort  of  gruff  upbraiding,  as  if  her 
evident  trepidation  impugned  his  justice  in 
reprisal.  "  Come,  you  can  guide  me.  Show 
me  just  where  they  came  in,  and  just  where 
they  got  out —  damn  'em !  ' 

She  could  scarcely  control  her  terror  when 

41 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

she  saw  that  he  intended  her  to  ride  with  him 
to  the  spot,  yet  she  feared  even  more  to  draw 
back,  to  refuse.  He  held  out  one  great 
spurred  boot.  Her  little  low-cut  shoe  looked 
tiny  upon  it  as  she  stepped  up.  He  swung 
her  to  the  saddle  behind  him,  and  the  great 
warhorse  sprang  forward  so  suddenly,  with 
such  long,  swift  strides,  that  she  swayed  pre 
cariously  for  a  moment  and  was  glaH  to  catch 
the  guerilla's  belt — to  seize,  too,  with  an 
agitated  clutch,  his  right  gauntlet  that  he 
held  backward  against  his  side.  His  fingers 
promptly  closed  with  a.  reassuring  grasp  on 
hers,  and  thus  skimming  the  red  sunset-tide 
they  left  behind  them  the  staring  group  about 
the  blacksmith  shop,  which  the  cavalrymen 
had  now  approached,  watering  their  horses 
at  the  trough  and  lifting  the  saddles  to  rest 
the  animals  from  the  constriction  of  the  pres 
sure  of  the  girths. 

Soon  the  guerilla  and  the  girl  disappeared 
in  the  distance ;  the  fences  flew  by;  the  shocks 
of  corn  seemed  all  a-trooping  down 
the  fields;  the  evening  star  in  the  red  haze 
above  the  purple  western  mountains  had 
spread  its  invisible  pinions,  and  was  a-wing 

42 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

above  their  heads.  Presently  the  heavy 
shadows  of  the  looming  wooded  range,  dark 
ening  now,  showing  only  blurred  effects  of  red 
and  brown  and  orange,  fell  upon  them,  and 
the  guerilla  checked  the  pace,  for  the  horse 
was  among  boulders  and  rough  ledges  that 
betokened  the  dry  bed  of  a  stream.  Great 
crags  had  begun  to  line  the  way,  first  only  on 
one  marge  of  the  channel ;  then  the  clifty  banks 
appeared  on  the  other  side,  and  at  length  a 
deep,  black-arched  opening  yawned  beneath 
the  mountains,  glooming  with  sepulchral 
shadows ;  in  the  silence  one  might  hear  drops 
trickling  vaguely  and  the  sudden  hooting  of 
an  owl  from  within. 

He  drew  up  his  horse  abruptly,  and  con 
templated  the  grim  aperture. 

i  l  So  they  came  into  Tanglefoot  down  the 
road,  and  went  out  of  the  Cove  by  this 
tunnel!  " 

"  Yessir !  ' '  she  piped.  What  had  befallen 
her  voice!  what  appalled  eerie  squeak  was 
this!  She  cleared  her  throat  timorously. 
"  They  couldn't  hev  done  it  later  in  the  fall 
season.  Tanglefoot  Creek  gits  ter  runnin' 
with  the  fust  rains." 

43 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

"  An'  Tolhurst  knew  that  too!  He  must 
have  had  a  guide — a  guide  that  knows  the 
Cove  like  I  know  the  palm  of  my  hand !  "Well, 
I'll  catch  him  yet,  sometime.  I'll  hang  him! 
I  '11  hang  him — if  I  have  to  grow  a  tree  a-pur- 
pose." 

What  strange  influence  had  Betided  the 
landscape?  Around  and  around  circled  the 
great  stationary  mountains  anchored  in  the 
foundations  of  the  earth.  It  was  a  long 
moment  hefore  they  were  still  again — per 
haps,  indeed,  it  was  the  necessity  of  guarding 
her  balance  on  the  fiery  steed,  a  new  cause  of 
apprehension,  that  paradoxically  steadied 
Ethelinda's  nerves.  Ackert  had  dismounted, 
throwing  the  reins  over  his  arm.  He  had 
caught  sight  of  the  ho  of  marks  along  the  moist 
sandy  spaces  of  the  channel,  mute  witness  in 
point  of  number,  and  a  guaranty  of  the  truth 
of  her  story.  A  sudden  glitter  arrested  his 
eyes.  He  stooped  and  picked  up  a  broken 
belt-buckle  with  the  significant  initials  U.S. 
yet  showing  upon  it. 

"I'll  hang  that  guide  yet,"  he  muttered, 
his  eyes  dark  with  angry  conviction,  his  face 
lowering  with  fury.  "  I'll  hang  him — I 
won't  expect  to  prove  it  p'int  blank.  Jes'  let 

44 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

me  git  a  mite  o?  suspicion,  an'  I'll  guarantee 
the  slipknot!  " 

She  could  never  understand  her  motive, 
her  choice  of  the  moment. 

66  Cap'n  Ackert,"  she  trembled  forth. 
There  was  so  much  significance  in  her  tone 
that,  standing  at  her  side,  he  looked  up  in 
sudden  expectation.  "  I  tole  ye  the  truth 
whenst  I  say  I  seen  no  guide  " — he  made  a 
gesture  of  impatience;  he  had  no  time  for 
twice-told  tales — "kase — kase  the  guide  war 
• — war — myself. '  * 

The  clear  twilight  fell  full  on  his  amazed, 
upturned  face  and  the  storm  of  fury  it  con 
centrated. 

"  What  did  you  do  it  fur?  "  he  thundered, 
"  you  limb  o'  perdition!  " 

"  Jes'  ter  help  him  some.  He — he — he 
— would  hev  been  capshured." 

He  would  indeed !  The  guerilla  was  very 
terrible  to  look  upon  as  his  brow  corrugated, 
and  his  upturned  eyes,  with  the  light  of  the 
sky  within  them,  flashed  ominously. 

11  You  little  she-devil!  "  he  cried,  and 
then  speech  seemed  to  fail  him. 

She  had  begun  to  shiver  and  shed  tears 
and  emit  little  gusts  of  quaking  sobs. 

45 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

"  Oh,  I  be  so  feared — — "  she  whimpered. 
"  But — but — you  mustn't  hang — nobody  else 
on  s'picion!  " 

There  was  a  vague  change  in  the  expres 
sion  of  his  face.  He  still  stood  beside  the 
saddle,  with  the  reins  over  his  arm,  while 
the  horse  threw  his  head  almost  to  the  ground 
and  again  tossed  it  aloft  in  his  impatient 
weariness  of  the  delay. 

"  An'  now  you  are  captured  yourself," 
he  said,  sternly.  "  You  are  accountable  fur 
your  actions." 

She  burst  into  a  paroxysm  of  sobs.  "  I 
never  went  ter  tell!  I  meant  ter  keep  the 
secret!  The  folks  in  the  Cove  dun 'no' 
nuthin'.  But — oh,  ye  mustn't  s'picion  no 
body  else —  ye  mustn't  hang  nobody  else!  " 

Once  more  that  indescribable  change  upon 
his  face. 

66  You  showed  him  the  way  to  this  pass 
yourself!  Tell  the  truth!  " 

"He  war  ridin'  his  horse-critter — 'tain't 
'ez  fast,  nor  fine,  nor  fat  ez  yourn." 

He  stroked  the  glossy  mane  with  a  sort 
of  mechanical  pride. 

"  And  so  he  went  plumb  through  the 
cave?  " 

46 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

"  An'  all  the  troop — they  kindled  pine- 
knots  fur  torches." 

He  glanced  about  him  at  the  convenient 
growths. 

"  And  they  came  out  all  safe  in  Green- 
brier!  "  He  winced.  How  the  lost  oppor 
tunity  hurt  him ! 

4  '  Yessir.    In  Greenbrier  Cove. ' ' 

"Did  he  pay  you  in  gold?  "  sneered  Ac- 
kert.  "Or  in  greenbacks!  Or  mebbe  in 
Cornfed  money?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  hev  his  gold."  She  drew 
herself  up  proudly,  though  the  tears  were 
still  coursing  down  her  cheeks.  "  So  he 
gin  me  a  present — a  whole  passel  o '  coffee  in 
my  milk-piggin. ' '  Then  to  complete  a  candid 
confession  she  detailed  the  disposition  she 
had  made  of  this  rare  and  precious  luxury  at 
the  rebel  smallpox  camp. 

His  eyes  seemed  to  dilate  as  they  gazed 
up  at  her.  "  Jesus  Gawd!  "  he  exclaimed, 
with  uncouth  profanity.  But  the  phrase  was 
unfamiliar  to  her,  and  she  caught  at  it  with 
a  meaning  all  her  own. 

"  That's  jes'  it!  Folks  in  gineral  don't 
think  o'  them,  'cept  ter  git  out  o'  thar  way; 
an'  nobody  keers  fur  them,  hut  kase  Jesus  is 

47 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

Gawd  He  makes  somebody  remember  them 
wunst  in  a  while!  An'  they  did  seem  pas 
sable  glad." 

A  vague  sweet  fragrance  was  on  the 
vesperal  air ;  some  subtle  distillation  of  asters 
or  jewel-weed  or  " mountain- snow,"  and  the 
leafage  of  crimson  sumac  and  purple  sweet- 
gum  and  yellow  hickory  and  the  late  ripening 
frost-grapes — all  in  the  culmination  of  au 
tumnal  perfection;  more  than  one  star 
gleamed  whitely  palpitant  in  a  sky  that  was 
yet  blue  and  roseate  with  a  reminiscence  of 
sunset;  a  restful  sentiment,  a  brief  truce 
stilled  the  guerilla 's  tempestuous  pulse  as  he 
continued  to  stand  beside  his  horse's  head 
while  the  girl  waited,  seated  on  the  saddle 
blanket. 

Suddenly  he  spoke  to  an  unexpected  in 
tent.  "  Ye  took  a  power  o'  risk  in  goin'  nigh 
that  Confederate  pest-camp — an'  yit  ye 're 
fur  the  Union  an'  saved  a  squadron  from 
capture!"  he  upbraided  the  inconsistency  in 
a  soft  incidental  drawl. 

"  Yes,  I  be  fur  the  Union,"  she  trem 
bled  forth  the  dread  avowal.  "  But  some- 
hows  I  can't  keep  from  holpin'  any  I  kin. 

48 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

They  war  rebs — an'  it  war  Yankee  coffee — 
an'  I  dun 'no' — I  jes'  dun 'no' " 

As  she  hesitated  he  looked  long  at  her 
with  that  untranslated  gaze.  Then  he  fell 
ponderingly  silent. 

Perhaps  the  revelation  of  the  sanctities  of 
a  sweet  humanity  for  a  holy  sake,  blessing 
and  blessed,  had  illumined  his  path,  had 
lifted  his  eyes,  had  wrought  a  change  in  his 
moral  atmosphere  spiritually  suffusive, 
potent,  revivifying,  complete.  "  She  is  as 
good  as  the  saints  in  the  Bible — an'  plumb 
beautiful  besides,"  he  muttered  beneath  his 
fierce  mustachios. 

Once  more  he  gazed  wonderingly  at  her. 

"I  expect  to  do  some  courtin'  in  this 
kentry  when  the  war  is  over,"  the  guerilla 
said,  soberly,  reaching  down  to  readjust  the 
reins.  "  I  haven't  got  time  now.  Will  you 
be  waiting  fur  me  here  in  Tanglefoot  Cove — 
if  I  promise  not  to  hang  you  fur  your  mis 
deeds  right  off  now!  "  He  glanced  up  with 
a  sudden  arch  jocularity. 

She  burst  out  laughing  gleefuly  in  the 
tumult  of  her  joyous  reassurance,  as  she  laid 
her  tremulous  fingers  in  his  big  gauntlet  when 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

lie  insisted  that  they  should  shake  hands  as 
on  a  solemn  compact.  Forthwith  he 
mounted  again,  and  the  great  charger  gal 
loped  back,  carrying  double,  in  the  red  after 
glow  of  the  sunset,  to  the  waiting  group  be 
fore  the  flaring  doors  of  the  forge. 

The  fine  flower  of  romance  had  blossomed 
incongruously  in  that  eager  heart  in  those 
fierce  moments  of  the  bitterness  of  defeat. 
Life  suddenly  had  a  new  meaning,  a  fair  and 
fragrant  promise,  and  often  and  again  he 
looked  over  his  shoulder  at  the  receding  scene 
when  the  trumpets  sang  "  to  horse,"  and  in 
the  light  of  the  moon  the  guerilla  rode  out 
of  Tanglefoot  Cove. 

But  Ethelinda  saw  him  never  again.  All 
the  storms  of  fate  overwhelmed  the  Con 
federacy  with  many  a  rootless  hope  and  many 
a  plan  and  pride.  In  lieu  of  the  materializa 
tion  of  the  stalwart  ambition  of  distinction 
that  had  come  to  dominate  his  life,  responsive 
to  the  discovery  of  his  peculiar  and  inherent 
gifts,  his  destiny  was  chronicled  in  scarce  a 
line  of  the  printed  details  of  a  day  freighted 
with  the  monstrous  disaster  of  a  great  battle ; 
in  common  with  others  of  the  "  missing  "  his 
bones  were  picked  by  the  vultures  till  shoved 

50 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  GUERILLA 

into  a  trench,  where  a  monument  rises  to-day 
to  commemorate  an  event  and  not  a  com 
mander.  Nevertheless,  for  many  years  the 
flare  of  the  first  red  leaves  in  the  cleft  among 
the  pines  on  the  eastern  slope  of  Tanglefoot 
Cove  brought  to  Ethelinda's  mind  the  gay 
flutter  of  the  guidon,  and  in  certain  sonorous 
blasts  of  the  mountain  wind  she  could  hear 
martial  echoes  of  the  trumpets  of  the  guerilla. 


61! 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM 
MOUNTAIN? 

The  wind  stirred  in  the  weighted  pines; 
the  snow  lay  on  the  ground.  Here  and 
there  on  its  smooth,  white  expanse  footprints 
betokened  the  woodland  gentry  abroad.  In 
the  pallid  glister  of  the  moon,  even  amid  the 
sparse,  bluish  shadows  of  the  leafless  trees, 
one  might  discriminate  the  impression  of  the 
pronged  claw  of  the  wild  turkey,  the  short, 
swift  paces  of  the  mink,  the  padded,  doglike 
paw  of  the  wolf.  A  progress  of  a  yet  more 
ravening  suggestion  was  intimated  in  great 
hoof-marks  leading  to  the  door  of  a  little  log 
cabin  all  a-crouch  in  the  grim  grip  of  winter 
and  loneliness  and  poverty  on  the  slope  of 
the  mountain,  among  heavy,  outcropping 
ledges  of  rock  and  beetling,  overhanging 
crags.  With  icy  ranges  all  around  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach,  with  the  vast,  instarred, 
dark  sky  above,  it  might  seem  as  if  sorrow, 
the  world,  the  law  could  hardly  take  account 
of  so  slight  a  thing,  so  remote.  But  smoke 
was  slowly  stealing  up  from  its  stick-and-clay 
chimney,  and  its  clapboarded  roof  sheltered  a 

52 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

group  with  scarcely  the  heart  to  mend  the 
fire. 

Two  women  shivered  on  the  broad  hearth 
before  the  dispirited  embers.  One  had  wept 
so  profusely  that  she  had  much  ado  to  find 
a  dry  spot  in  her  blue-checked  apron,  thrown 
over  her  head,  wherewith  to  mop  her  tears. 
The  other,  much  younger,  her  fair  face  red 
dened,  her  blue  eyes  swollen,  her  auburn  curl 
ing  hair  all  tangled  on  her  shoulders,  her 
voice  half -choked  with  sobs,  addressed  her 
self  to  the  narration  of  their  woes,  her  cold, 
listless  hands  clasped  about  her  knees  as  she 
sat  on  an  inverted  bushel-basket,  for  there 
was  not  a  whole  chair  in  the  room. 

"  An*  then  he  jes'  tuk  an'  leveled!  "  she 
faltered. 

A  young  hunter  standing  on  the  threshold, 
leaning  on  his  rifle,  a  brace  of  wild  turkeys 
hanging  over  his  shoulders,  half  a  dozen  rab 
bits  dangling  from  his  belt,  stared  at  her 
through  the  dull,  red  glow  of  the  fading  fire 
in  amazed  agitation. 

"  What  did  he  level,  Medory — a  gun?  " 

"  Wuss'n  that!"  replied  the  younger 
woman.  "  He  leveled  the  weepon  o'  fhe 
law!  " 

53 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

The  man  turned  to  look  again  at  the 
curious  disarray  of  the  room.  "  The  law 
don't  allow  him  to  do  sech  ez  this!  "  he 
blurted  out  in  rising  anger.  "  Why,  every 
thing  hyar  is  bodaciously  broke  an'  busted! 
War  it  the  sheriff  himself  ez  levied  ?  ' ' 

"  'Twar  jes'  the  dep'ty  critter,  Clem 
Tweed,"  explained  Medora,  "  mighty  joki- 
fied,  an'  he  'peared  ter  be  middlin'  drunk,  an* 
though  he  said  su'thin'  'bout  exemptions  he 
'lowed  ez  we-uns  lived  at  the  eend  o'  the 
world." 

Her  mother-in-law  suddenly  lowered  the 
apron  from  her  face. 

"  '  The  jumpin'-off  place,'  war  what  Clem 
Tweed  called  it !  "  she  interpolated  with  a 
fiery  eye  of  indignant  reminiscence. 

"  He  did!  He  did!  "  Medora  bitterly  re 
sented  this  fling  at  the  remoteness  of  their 
poor  home.  "  An'  he  said  whilst  hyar  he'd 
level  on  everything  in  sight,  ez  he  hoped  never 
ter  travel  sech  roads  agin — everything  in 
sight,  even  the  baby  an'  the  cat!  " 

"  Shucks,  Medory,  ye  know  the  dep'ty 
man  war  funnin'  whenst  he  said  that  about 
the  baby  an'  the  cat!  Ye  know  ez  Clem  ad- 

54 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

mitted  he  hed  Christmas  in  his  bones!  "  the 
elder  objected. 

"  Waal,  war  Clem  Tweed  funnin'  whenst 
he  done  sech  ez  that,  in  levyin'  an  execu 
tion?  "  Bruce  Gilhooley  pointed  with  his 
ramrod  at  the  wreck  of  the  furniture. 

The  two  women  burst  into  lugubrious  sobs 
and  rocked  themselves  back  and  forth  in 
unison.  "  'Twar  Dad!  "  Medora  moaned,  in 
smothered  accents. 

A  pause  of  bewilderment  ensued.  Then 
the  young  man's  face  took  on  an  expres 
sion  of  dismay  so  ominous  that  Medora 's 
tears  were  checked  in  the  ghastly  fear  of  dis 
asters  yet  to  come  to  her  father-in-law.  Now 
and  again  she  glanced  anxiously  over  her 
shoulder  at  an  oblong  black  aperture  in  the 
dusk  which  betokened  the  open  door  of  the 
shed-room.  Some  one  lurked  there,  evidently 
cherishing  all  aloof  a  grief,  an  anger,  a 
despair  too  poignant  to  share. 

"  Dad  warn't  hyar  whenst  the  dep'ty 
leveled,"  she  said.  "  An'  mighty  glad  we 
war — kase  somebody  mought  hev  got  hurt. 
But  whenst  Dad  kem  home  an'  larnt  the  news 
he  jes' — he  jes' — he  jes'  lept  about  like  a 
painter. ' ' 

55 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

"  He  did!  He  did!  "  asseverated  a  voice 
from  the  veiled  head,  all  mulled  in  the 
checked  apron. 

"  Dad  'lowed, "  continued  Medora,  "  ez 
Peter  Petrie  hev  persecuted  and  druv  him  ter 
the  wall.  Fust  he  tricked  Dad  out  'n  some  un 
occupied  Ian'  what  Dad  hed  begun  ter  clear, 
an'  Petrie  got  it  entered  fust  an'  tuk  out  a 
grant  an7  holds  the  title!  An7  whenst  Dad 
lay  claim  ter  it  Peter  Petrie  declared  ef  enny 
Gilhooley  dared  ter  cross  Storm  Mounting 
he'd  break  every  bone  in  his  body!  " 

66  A  true  word — the  insurance  of  the 
critter!  "  came  from  the  blue-checked  veil. 

A  stir  in  the  shed-room — a  half-suppressed 
cough  and  a  clearing  of  the  throat. 

"An'  then  Dad  fell  on  Pete  Petrie  at 
the  Crossroads'  store,  whar  the  critter  hed 
stopped  with  his  mail-pouch,  an'  Dad 
trounced  him  well  afore  all  the  crowd  o* 
loafers  thar!  " 

"Bless  the  Lord,  he  did!  "  the  checked 
apron  voiced  a  melancholy  triumph. 

"An'  then,  ye  remember  whenst  Dad  set 
out  fire  in  the  woods  las '  fall  ter  burn  off  the 
trash  on  his  own  Ian',  the  flames  run  jes'  a 
leetle  over  his  line  an'  on  ter  them  woods  on 

56 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

Storm  Mounting,  doin'  no  harm  ter  nobody, 
nor  nut  bin'!  ' 

"  Not  a  mite — not  a  mite,"  asseverated 
the  apron. 

"  An'  ez  sech  appears  ter  be  agin  the  law 
Petrie  gin  information  an'  Dad  war  fined 
five  dollars!  " 

"  An'  paid  it!  "  cried  Jane  Gilhooley. 
"Ye  know  that!  " 

"  An'  then,  ez  it  'pears  ter  be  the  law  ez 
one  hundred  dollars  fur  sech  an  offense  is 
ter  be  forfeited  ter  ennybody  ez  will  sue  fur 
it,"  Medora  resumed,  "  Petrie  seen  his 
chance  ter  git  even  fur  bein'  beat  in  a  reg'lar 
knock-do wn-an '-drag-out  fight,  an',"  with 
the  rising  inflection  of  a  climax,  ' l  he  hev  sued 
and  got  jedgmint!  " 

"  An'  so  what  that  half -drunk  dep'ty, 
Clem  Tweed,  calls  an  execution  war  leveled!  " 
exclaimed  Jane  Gilhooley,  her  veiled  head 
swaying  forlornly  as  she  sobbed  invisibly. 

"  But  Dad  'lowed  ez  Peter  Petrie 
shouldn't  hev  none  o'  his  gear,"  Medora 's 
eyes  flashed  with  a  responsive  sentiment. 

"  His  gran 'mam's  warpin'  bars!  "  sug 
gested  the  elder  woman. 

"  The   spinnin'- wheels    she   brung   from 

57 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

No'th  Carliny,"  enumerated  Medora,  "  the 
loom  an'  the  candle-moulds." 

"  The  cheers  his  dad  made  fur  his  mam 
whenst  they  begun  housekeeping"  said  Jane 
Gilhooley's  muffled  voice. 

"  The  press  an'  the  safe,"  Medora  con 
tinued. 

"  The  pot  an'  the  oven,"  chokingly  re 
sponded  the  apron. 

"  The  churn  an'  the  piggins!  " 

"  The  skillet  an'  the  trivet!  " 

Medora,  fairly  flinching  from  the  inven 
tory  of  all  the  household  goods,  so  desecrated 
and  "  leveled  on,"  returned  to  the  salient 
incident  of  the  day.  "  Dad  jes'  tuk  an  axe 
an'  bust  up  every  yearthly  thing  in  the 
house!  " 

"  An'  now  we-uns  ain't  got  nuthin'." 
The  elder  woman  looked  about  in  stunned  dis 
may,  her  little  black  eyes  a  mere  gleam  of  a 
pupil  in  the  midst  of  their  swollen  lids  and 
network  of  wrinkles. 

One  of  the  miseries  of  the  very  ignorant 
is,  paradoxically,  the  partial  character  of 
their  privation.'  If  the  unknown  were  to 
them  practically  non-existent  they  might  find 
solace  in  sluggish  and  secure  content.  But 

53 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

even  the  smallest  circle  of  being  touches  con 
tinually  the  periphery  of  wider  spheres.  The 
air  is  freighted  with  echoes  of  undistin 
guished  sounds.  Powers,  illimitable,  absolute, 
uncomprehended,  seem  to  hold  an  inimical 
sway  over  their  lives  and  of  these  the  most 
dreaded  is  the  benign  law,  framed  for  their 
protection,  spreading  above  them  an  unper- 
ceived,  unimagined  segis.  Thus  there  was 
hardly  an  article  in  the  house  which  was  not 
exempt  by  statute  from  execution,  and  the 
house  itself  and  land  worth  only  a  hundred  or 
two  dollars  were  protected  by  the  homestead 
law.  The  facetious  deputy,  Clem  Tweed, 
with  "  Christmas  in  his  bones,"  would  have 
committed  a  misdemeanor  in  seriously  levy 
ing  upon  them.  He  had  held  the  affair  as  a 
capital  farce  —  even  affecting  with  wild, 
appropriating  gambols  to  seize  the  baby  and 
the  cat — and  fully  realized  that  malice  only 
had  prompted  the  whole  proceeding,  to  humil 
iate  Eoss  Gilhooley  and  illustrate  the  com 
pleteness  of  the  victory  which  Peter  Petrie 
had  won  over  his  enemy. 

The  younger  Gilhooley,  however,  quaked 
as  his  limited  intelligence  laid  hold  on  the 
fact  that  if  the  law  had  permitted  a  levy  on 

59 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

the  household  goods  to  satisfy  the  judgment 
of  Peter  Petrie  their  destruction  was  in  itself 
a  balking  of  the  process,  resistance  to  the  law, 
and  with  an  unimagined  penalty. 

"  We-uns  hev  got  ter  git  away  from 
hyar  somehows!  "  he  said  with  decision. 

The  idea  of  bluff  Boss  Gilhooley  in  the 
clutches  of  the  law  because  of  one  fierce 
moment  of  goaded  and  petulant  despair,  with 
the  ignominy  of  a  criminal  accusation,  with 
all  the  sordid  concomitants  of  arrest  and  the 
jail,  was  infinitely  terrible  to  his  unaccus 
tomed  imagination.  He  revolted  from  its 
contemplation  with  a  personal  application. 
For  an  honest  man,  however  poor,  feels  all 
the  high  prerogatives  of  honor. 

There  was  a  step  in  the  shed-room  where 
Boss  Gilhooley  had  lurked  and  listened.  His 
wrath  now  spent,  his  mind  had  traveled  the 
obvious  course  to  his  son's  conclusion.  He 
stood  a  gigantic,  bearded  shadow  in  the  door 
way,  half  ashamed,  wholly  repentant,  dimly, 
vaguely  fearful,  and  all  responsive  and 
quivering  to  the  idea  of  flight.  "  I  been 
studyin'  some  'bout  goin'  ter  Minervy  Sue's 
in  Georgy,"  he  said  creakingly,  as  if  his  voice 
had  suffered  from  its  unwonted  disuse. 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

"  An'  none  too  soon,"  said  Bruce  dog 
gedly.  "  The  oxen  is  Medory's,  bein'  lef 
ter  her  whenst  her  dad  died,  an'  the  wagin  is 
mine!  Quit  foolin'  along  o'  that  thar  fire, 
Medory !  ' '  For  with  her  bright  hair  hanging 
curling  over  her  cheeks  his  young  wife  had 
leaned  forward  to  start  it  anew. 

"  Never  ter  kindle  it  agin  on  this  ha'th- 
stone!  "  she  cried  with  a  poignant  realiza 
tion  of  the  significance  of  the  uprooting  of 
the  roof -tree  and  the  wide,  vague  world  with 
out.  And  still  once  more  the  two  women  fell 
to  bemoaning  their  fate  of  exile  beside  the  ex 
piring  embers,  while  the  elder  Gilhooley's 
voice  sounded  bluffly  outside  calling  the  oxen, 
and  his  son  was  rattling  their  heavy  yoke 
in  the  corner. 

They  were  well  advanced  on  their  journey 
ere  yet  the  snowy  Christmas  dawn  was  in  the 
sky.  So  slow  a  progress  was  ill-associated 
with  the  idea  of  flight.  It  was  almost  noise 
less — the  great  hoofs  of  the  oxen  fell  all 
muffled  on  the  deep  snow  still  whitely  a-glitter 
with  the  moon,  hanging  dense  and  opaque  in 
the  western  sky,  and  flecked  with  the  den 
droidal  images  of  the  overshadowing  trees. 
The  immense  bovine  heads  swayed  to  and 

61 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

fro,  cadenced  to  the  deliberate  pace,  and  more 
than  once  a  muttered  low  of  distaste  and  pro 
test  rose  with  the  vapor  curling  upward  from 
lip  and  nostril  into  the  icy  air.  On  the  front 
seat  of  the  cumbrous,  white,  canvas-covered 
vehicle  was  Medora,  her  bright  hair  blowing 
out  from  the  folds  of  a  red  shawl  worn  hood- 
wise;  she  held  a  cord  attached  to  the  horns 
of  one  of  the  oxen  by  which  she  sought  to 
guide  the  yoke  in  those  intervals  when  her 
husband,  who  walked  by  their  side  with  a 
goad,  must  needs  fall  to  the  rear  to  drive  up 
a  cow  and  calf.  Inside  the  wagon  Eoss  Gril- 
hooley  did  naught  but  bow  his  head  between 
his  hands  as  if  he  could  not  face  the  coming 
day  charged  with  he  knew  not  what  destiny 
for  him.  His  wife  was  adjusting  and  read 
justing  the  limited  gear  they  had  dared  to 
bring  off  with  them — their  forlorn  rags  of 
clothing  and  bedding,  all  in  shapeless 
bundles ;  sundry  gourds  full  of  soft  soap,  salt, 
tobacco,  and  a  scanty  store  of  provisions, 
which  she  feared  would  not  last  them  all  the 
way  to  Georgia  to  the  home  of  Minervy  Sue, 
their  daughter. 

No  one  touched  a  space  deeply  filled  with 
straw,  but  now  and  again  Medora  glanced 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

back  at  it  with  the  dawning  of  a  smile  in  her 
grief -stricken  face  that  cold,  nor  fear,  nor  de 
spair  could  wholly  overcast.  Three  small 
heads,  all  golden  and  curly,  all  pink-cheeked 
and  fair,  all  blissfully  slumbering,  rested 
there  as  if  they  had  been  so  many  dolls  packed 
away  thus  for  fear  of  breaking.  But  they 
had  no  other  couch  than  the  straw,  for 
Boss  Gilhooley  had  not  spared  the  feather- 
beds,  and  the  little  cabin  at  the  Notch  was 
now  half  full  of  the  fluff  ripped  out  by  his 
sharp  knife  from  the  split  ticks. 

Down  the  mountain  the  fugitives  went,  as 
silent  as  their  shadows;  and  at  last,  when 
one  might  hardly  know  if  it  were  the  sheen 
of  the  moon  that  still  illuminated  the  wan  and 
wintry  scene,  or  the  reflection  from  the  snow, 
or  the  dawning  of  the  dark-gray  day,  the 
river  came  in  sight,  all  a  rippling,  steely  ex 
panse  under  the  chill  wind  between  its  ice- 
girt  crags  and  snowy  banks. 

The  oxen  went  down  to  the  ford  in  a  lum 
bering  run.  Bruce  sprang  upon  the  tail 
board  to  ride,  the  dogs  chased  the  cow  and 
calf  to  the  crossing.  The  wheels  grated 
ominously  against  great  submerged  boulders ; 
the  surging  waves  rose  almost  to  the  wagon- 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

bed;  the  wind  struck  aslant  the  immense, 
cumbrous  cover,  threatening  to  capsize  it; 
and,  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  the  transit,  a 
sound,  as  clear  as  a  bugle  in  the  rare  icy  air, 
as  searchingly  sweet! 

All  were  motionless  for  an  instant,  doubt 
ful,  anxious,  listening — only  the  wintry  wind 
with  its  keen  sibilance;  only  the  dash  of  the 
swift  current ;  only  the  grating  of  the  wheels 
on  the  sand  as  the  oxen  reached  the  opposite 
margin ! 

But  hark,  again!  A  clear  tenor  voice  in 
the  fag  end  of  an  old  song: 

"  An'  my  bigges'  bottle  war  my  bes'  friend, 
An'  my  week's  work  was  all  at  an  end!  " 

It  issued  from  beyond  the  right  fork  of 
the  road  in  advance,  and  an  instant  panic 
ensued.  Discovery  was  hard  upon  them. 
Their  laborious  device  was  brought  to  naught 
should  any  eye  espy  them  in  their  hasty  flight 
to  the  State  line.  It  had  not  seemed  im 
possible  that  ere  the  day  should  dawn  they 
might  be  far  away  in  those  impenetrable 
forests  where  one  may  journey  many  a 
league,  meeting  naught  more  inimical  or 

64 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

speculative  than  bear  or  deer.  It  still  was 
worth  the  effort. 

With  a  sudden  spring  from  the  tailboard 
of  the  wagon  Bruce  Gilhooley  reached  the 
yoke,  fiercely  goading  the  oxen  onward. 
With  an  abrupt  lurch,  in  which  the  vehicle 
swayed  precariously  and  ponderously  from 
side  to  side,  they  started  up  the  steep,  snowy 
bank,  and  breaking  into  their  ungainly  run 
were  guided  into  the  left  fork  of  the  road. 
It  was  a  level  stretch  and  fringed  about  with 
pines,  and  soon  all  sight  of  the  pilgrims  was 
lost  amidst  the  heavy  snow-laden  boughs. 

The  river  bank  was  silent  and  solitary; 
and  after  a  considerable  interval  a  man  rode 
down  from  the  right  fork  to  the  ford. 

More  than  once  his  horse  refused  the  pas 
sage.  A  sort  of  parrot-faced  man  he  was, 
known  as  Tank  Dysart,  young,  red-haired, 
with  a  long,  bent  nose  and  a  preposterous  air 
of  knowingness  and  turbulent  inquiry.  He 
cocked  his  head  on  one  side  with  a  snort  of 
surprised  indignation,  and  beat  with  both 
heels,  but  again  the  horse,  sidling  about  the 
drifts,  declined  the  direct  passage  and  es 
sayed  to  cross  elsewhere. 

All  at  once  a  bundle  of  red  flannel,  lying 

5  65 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

in  the  drift  close  to  the  water's  edge,  caught 
his  attention,  and  suddenly  there  issued  forth 
a  lusty  bawl.  The  horseman  would  have 
turned  pale  but  for  the  whisky  which  had  per 
manently  incarnadined  the  bend  of  his  nose. 
As  it  was,  however,  he  looked  far  more  dis 
mayed  than  the  facts  might  seem  to  warrant. 

"  It's  the  booze — I  got  'em  again  fur  sar- 
tain!  "  he  quavered  in  plaintive  helplessness, 
his  terrified  eyes  fixed  on  the  squirming 
bundle. 

Then,  drunk  as  he  was,  he  perceived  the 
rift  in  his  logic.  ' '  Gol-darn  ye !  "  he  ex 
claimed,  violently  kicking  the  horse,  "  you- 
uns  ain't  got  no  call  ter  view  visions  an' 
see  sights — ye  old  water-bibber!  " 

As  the  horse  continued  to  snort  and  back 
away  from  the  object  Tank  Dysart  became 
convinced  of  its  reality.  Still  mounted,  he 
passed  close  enough  alongside  for  a  grasp  at 
it.  The  old  red-flannel  cape  and  hood  dis 
closed  a  plump  infant  about  ten  months  of 
age,  whimpering  and  cruelly  rubbing  his  eyes 
with  his  fists,  and  now  bawling  outright  with 
rage;  as  he  chanced  to  meet  the  gaze  of  his 
rescuer  he  paused  to  laugh  in  a  one-sided 
way,  displaying  two  pearly  teeth  and  a  very 
beguiling  red  tongue,  but  again  stiffening 

66 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

himself  lie  yelled  as  behooves  a  self-respect 
ing  baby  so  obviously  misplaced. 

Tank  Dysart  held  him  out  at  arm's  length 
in  his  strong  grasp,  surveying  him  in  mingled 
astonishment  and  delight.  "  Why,  bless  my 
soul,  Christmas  gift !  '  he  addressed  him. 
"  I'm  powerful  obligated  fur  yer  company!  " 

For  the  genial  infant  giggled  and  sput 
tered  and  gurgled  inconsistently  in  the  midst 
of  his  bawling,  and  banteringly  kicked  out  one 
soft  foot  in  a  snug,  red  sock,  faking  Tank 
full  in  the  chest;  then  he  stiffened,  swayed 
backward  and  screamed  again  as  if  in  agonies 
of  grief. 

"  Sufferin'  Moses!  "  grinned  the  drunk 
ard.  "  I  wouldn't  take  nuthin'  fur  ye!  Ye 
air  a  find,  an'  no  mistake!  "  The  word  sug 
gested  illusion.  "  Ye  ain't  no  snake,  now — 
nary  toad — nary  green  rabbit — no  sort'n 
jim-jam!  "  he  stipulated  apprehensively. 

The  baby  babbled  gleefully,  and,  as  if  at 
testing  its  reality,  delivered  half  a  dozen 
strong  kicks  with  those  active  plump  feet, 
encased  in  the  smart  red  socks. 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  the  drunkard  that 
here  was  a  duty  owing — to  seek  out  the  child's 
parents.  Even  to  his  befuddled  brain  that 
fact  was  plain  enough.  The  little  creature 

67 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

had  been  lost  evidently  from  some  family  of 
travelers  who  would  presently  retrace  their 
way  seeking  him. 

When  Bruce  Gilhooley  had  sprung  from 
the  tailboard  of  the  wagon  in  that  moment 
of  tumultuous  panic  he  had  not  noticed  the 
bundle  of  straw  dislodged.  Falling  with  it 
softly  into  the  deep  snowdrift  the  child  had 
continued  to  slumber  quietly  till  awakened 
by  the  cold  to  silence  and  loneliness,  and  then 
this  strange  rencontre. 

With  a  half -discriminated  idea  of  overtak 
ing  the  supposed  travelers,  Tank  Dysart 
briskly  forded  the  river,  and,  pressing  his 
horse  to  a  canter,  made  off  in  the  opposite 
direction. 

Gayly  they  fared  along  for  a  time,  Tank 
frequently  refreshing  himself  from  a  "  tick 
ler,"  facetiously  so-called,  which  he  carried 
in  his  pocket.  Occasionally  he  generously  of 
fered  the  baby  the  stopper  to  suck,  and  as  the 
child  smacked  his  lips  with  evident  relish 
Tank  roared  out  again  in  his  fine  and  flexible 
tenor : 

"  For  my  bigges'  bottle  war  my  bes*  friend, 
An'  my  week's  work  war  all  at  an  end!  " 

68 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

The  horse,  by  far  the  nobler  animal  of  the 
two,  stood  still  ever  and  anon  when  the 
drunken  creature  swayed  back  and  forth  in 
his  saddle,  imperiling  his  equilibrium.  Even 
to  his  besotted  mind,  as  he  grew  more  intoxi 
cated,  the  danger  to  the  child  in  his  erratic 
grasp  became  apparent. 

"  I  got  ter  put  him  in  a  safe  place — a 
Christmas  gift, ' '  he  now  and  then  stuttered. 

When  he  came  at  last  within  reach  of  a 
human  habitation  he  had  been  for  some  time 
consciously  on  the  point  of  falling  from  the 
saddle  with  the  infant,  who  was  now  quietly 
asleep.  He  noted,  as  in  a  dream,  the  Cross 
roads'  store,  which  was  also  the  post-office; 
standing  in  front  of  the  log  cabin  was  a  horse 
already  saddled  hanging  down  a  dull,  dis 
pirited  head  as  he  awaited  the  mail-rider 
through  a  long,  cold  interval,  and  bearing  a 
United  States  mail-pouch,  mouldy,  flabby, 
nearly  empty.  The  door  of  the  store  was 
closed  against  the  cold;  the  blacksmith's  shop 
was  far  down  the  road ;  the  two  or  three  scat 
tered  dwellings  showed  no  sign  of  life  but 
the  wreaths  of  blue  smoke  curling  up  from  the 
clay-and- stick  chimneys. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  impunity  of  the  mo- 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

merit  that  suggested  the  idea  to  Dysart's 
whimsical  drunken  fancy.  He  never  knew. 
He  suddenly  tried  the  mouth  of  the  pouch. 
It  was  locked.  Nothing  daunted,  a  stroke 
of  a  keen  knife  slit  the  upper  part  of  the  side 
seam,  the  sleeping  baby  was  slipped  into  the 
aperture,  and  Tank  Dysart  rode  off  chuckling 
with  glee  to  think  of  the  dismay  of  the  mail- 
rider  when  the  mail-pouch  should  break  forth 
with  squeals  and  quiver  with  kicks,  which 
embarrassment  would  probably  not  befall  him 
until  far  away  in  the  wilderness  with  his  per 
plexity,  for  there  had  been  something 
stronger  on  that  stopper  than  milk  or  cambric 
tea. 

As  Tank  went  he  muttered  something  about 
the  security  of  the  United  States  mail, 
wherein  he  had  had  the  forethought  to  de 
posit  his  Christmas  gift,  and  forthwith  he 
flung  himself  into  the  shuck-pen,  where  he 
fell  asleep,  and  was  not  found  till  half-frozen, 
his  whereabouts  being  at  last  disclosed  to 
the  storekeeper  by  the  persistent  presence 
of  his  faithful  steed  standing  hard  by.  Tank 
was  humanely  cared  for  by  this  functionary, 
but  several  days  elapsed  before  he  alto 
gether  recovered  consciousness;  it  was 

70 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

naturally  a  confused,  disconnected  train  of 
impressions  which  his  mind  retained.  At 
first,  in  a  maudlin  state,  he  demanded  of  the 
storekeeper,  in  his  capacity  as  postmaster 
also,  a  package,  a  Christmas  gift,  which  he 
averred  he  should  receive  by  mail.  Albeit 
this  was  esteemed  merely  an  inebriated  fancy, 
such  is  the  sensitiveness  of  the  United  States 
postal  service  on  the  subject  of  missing  mail 
matter  that  the  postmaster,  half-irritated, 
half -nervous,  detailed  it  to  the  mail-rider. 
"  Tank  'lows  ez  he  put  it  into  the  mail  hyar 
himself!  " 

Peter  Petrie,  a  lowering-eyed,  severe- 
visaged,  square- jawed  man,  gave  Tank 
Dysart  only  a  glance  of  ire  from  under  his 
hat-brim,  as  if  the  matter  were  not  worth  the 
waste  of  a  word. 

Dysart,  wreck  though  he  was,  had  not  yet 
lost  all  conscience.  He  was  in  an  agony  of 
remorse  and  doubt.  It  kept  him  sober  longer 
than  he  had  been  for  five  years,  for  he  was 
a  professed  drunkard  and  idler,  scarcely  con 
sidered  responsible.  He  could  not  be  sure 
that  he  had  experienced  aught  which  he 
seemed  to  remember — he  hoped  it  was  all  only 
his  drunken  fancy,  for  what  could  have  been 

71 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

the  fate  of  the  child  subject  to  the  freaks  of 
his  imbecile  folly?  He  was  reassured  to  hear 
no  rumors  of  a  lost  child,  and  yet  so  definite 
were  the  images  of  his  recollection  that  they 
must  needs  constrain  his  credulity. 

He  felt  it  in  the  nature  of  a  rescue  one  day 
when,  as  he  chanced  to  join  a  group  of  gossips 
loitering  around  the  fire  of  the  forge,  he  heard 
the  smith  ask  casually:  "  Who  is  that  thar 
baby  visitin'  at  Peter  Petrie's  over  yander 
acrost  Storm  Mounting?  " 

"  Gran 'child,  I  reckon,"  suggested  his 
big-boned,  bare-armed,  soot-grimed  striker. 

"  Peter  Petrie  hain't  got  nare  gran'- 
child, ' '  said  one  of  the  loungers. 

Tank,  sober  for  once,  held  his  breath  to 
listen. 

"Behaves  powerful  like  a  gran 'dad,'7  ob 
served  the  smith,  holding  a  horseshoe  with 
the  tongs  in  the  fire  while  the  striker  laid  hold 
on  the  bellows  and  the  sighing  sound  surged 
to  and  fro  and  the  white  blaze  flared  forth, 
showing  the  interested  faces  of  the  group  in 
the  dusky  smithy,  and  among  them  the  horse 
whose  shoe  was  making,  while  another  stood 
at  the  open  door  defined  against  the  snow. 
"  Behaves  like  he  ain't  got  a  mite  o'  sense.  I 

72 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

war  goin'  by  thar  one  day  las'  week  an'  I 
stepped  up  on  the  porch  ter  pass  the  time  o' 
day  with  Pete  an'  his  wife,  an'  the  door  war 
open.  And'  what  d'ye  s'pose  I  seen?  Old 
Peter  Petrie  a-goin'  round  the  floor  on  all 
fours,  an'  a-settin'  on  his  back  war  a  baby — 
powerful  peart  youngster — jes'  a-grinnin' 
an'  a-whoopin'  an'  a-poundin'  old  Peter  with 
a  whip !  An'  Pete  galloped,  he  did !  Didn't 
seem  beset  with  them  rheumatics  he  used  ter 
talk  about — peartest  leetle  'possum  of  a 
baby!  " 

Tank  Dysart  lost  no  time  in  his  investiga 
tions  and  he  had  the  courage  of  his  con 
victions.  He  did  not  scruple  to  call  Peter 
Petrie  to  his  face  a  mail-robber. 

"  Ye  tuk  a  package  deposited  in  the  United 
States'  mail  and  converted  it  to  your  own 
use,"  he  vociferated. 

"  'Twar  neither  stamped  nor  addressed," 
old  Petrie  gruffly  contended,  albeit  obviously 
disconcerted. 

Dysart  even  sought  to  induce  the  post 
master  to  send  a  complaint  of  the  rider  to 
the  postal  authorities. 

"  I  got  too  much  respec'  fur  my  job,"  re 
plied  that  worthy,  jocosely  eying  Tank  across 

73 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

the  counter  of  the  store.  "  I  ain't  goin'  ter 
let  on  ter  the  folks  in  Washington  that  we 
send  babies  about  in  the  mail-bags  hyar  in 
the  mountings. ' ' 

The  social  acquaintance  of  the  little  man 
had  necessarily  been  rather  limited,  but  one 
day  a  neighbor,  attracted  to  the  Petrie  cabin 
by  idle  curiosity  concerning  the  waif  robbed 
from  the  mails,  gazed  upon  him  for  one  as 
tonished  instant  and  then  proclaimed  his 
identity. 

11  Nare  Gilhooley  should  ever  cross  Storm 
Mounting,  'cordin  ter  yer  sayin',  Petey,  an' 
hyar  ye  hev  been  totin'  Eoss  Gilhooley 's 
gran 'son  back  an'  forth  across  Old  Stormy, 
an'  all  yer  spare  time  ye  spend  on  yer  hands 
an'  knees  barkin'  like  a  dog  jes'  ter  pleasure 
him." 

Peter  Petrie  changed  countenance  sud 
denly.  His  square,  bristly,  grim  jaw  hard 
ened  and  stiffened,  so  dear  to  him  were  all 
his  stubborn  convictions  and  grizzly,  ancient 
feuds.  But  he  bestirred  himself  to  cause 
information  to  be  conveyed  to  Bruce  Gil 
hooley  of  his  son's  whereabouts  for  he  readily 
suspected  that  the  family  had  fled  to  Minervy 
Sue's  in  Georgia.  Peter  Petrie  sustained  in 

74 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

this  act  of  conscience  a  grievous  wrench,  for 
it  foreshadowed  parting  with  the  choice  mis 
sive  filched  from  the  mail-bag,  but  he  was 
not  unmindful  of  the  anguish  and  bereave 
ment  of  the  mother,  and  somehow  the  thought 
was  peculiarly  coercive  at  this  season. 

"  I  don't  want  ter  even  up  with  King 
Herod,  now,  sure !  "  he  averred  to  himself  one 
night  as  he  sat  late  over  the  embers,  re 
viewing  his  plans  all  made.  He  thought 
much  in  these  lone  hours  as  he  heard  the 
wind  speed  past,  the  trees  crack  under  their 
weight  of  snow,  and  noted  through  the  tiny 
window  the  glister  of  a  great  star  of  a 
supernal  lustre,  high  above  the  pines,  what  a 
freight  of  joy  the  tidings  of  this  child  would 
bear  to  the  bleeding  hearts  of  his  kindred. 
Albeit  so  humble,  the  parallel  must  needs 
arise  suggesting  the  everlasting  joy  the 
existence  of  another  Child  had  brought  to  the 
souls  of  all  kindreds,  all  peoples.  "  Peace, 
peace,"  he  reiterated,  as  the  red  coals  crum 
bled  and  the  gray  ash  spread;  " Peace  an' 
good-will!  " 

The  words  seemed  to  epitomize  all  religion, 
all  value,  all  hope,  and  somehow  they  so 
dwelt  in  his  mind  that  the  next  day  he  was 

75 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

moved  to  add  a  personal  message  to  old  Eoss 
Grilhooley  in  sending  the  more  important  in 
formation  to  Bruce. 

"  Let  on  ter  Boss,"  he  charged  the  envoy, 
"  ez — ez — that  thar  jedgmint  an'  execution 
issued  war  jes'  formal — ye  mought  say — jes' 
ter  hev  all  the  papers  reg'lar. " 

By  virtue  of  more  attrition  with  the  world 
the  mail-rider  was  more  sophisticated  than 
his  enemy,  and  sotfth  to  say,  more  sophistical. 

"  Eoss  is  writ-proof,  the  old  fool,  though 
he  war  minded  ter  cut  me  out'n  my  levy  if 
he  could!  But  waal,  jes'  tell  him  from  me 
ez  we-uns  hev  hed  a  heap  o'  pleasure  in  the 
baby's  company  in  the  Chris 'mus,  an'  we- 
uns  expec'  ter  borry  him  some  whenst  they 
all  gits  home !  ' ' 

To  the  child's  kindred  the  news  was  as  if 
he  had  risen  from  the  dead,  and  the  gratitude 
of  the  Gilhooleys  to  Petrie  knew  no  bounds. 
They  had  accounted  the  baby  drowned  when, 
missing  him,  they  had  retraced  their  way, 
finding  naught  but  a  bit  of  old  blanket  on 
which  he  had  lain,  close  to  the  verge  of  the 
cruel  river.  Eoss  Gilhooley,  softened  and 
rendered  tractable  by  exile  and  sorrow,  upon 

76 


WHO  CROSSES  STORM  MOUNTAIN? 

his  return  lent  himself  to  an  affected  warmth 
toward  Peter  Petrie  which  gradually  assumed 
all  the  fervors  of  sincerity.  The  neighbors 
indeed  were  moved  to  say  that  the  two 
friends  and  ancient  enemies,  when  both  on 
all  fours  and  barking  for  the  delight  of  the 
baby,  were  never  so  little  like  dogs  in  all 
their  lives. 

Thus  a  child  shall  lead  them. 


77 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

A  mere  moment  seems  an  inconsiderable 
factor  in  life — only  its  multiplication  attain 
ing  importance  and  signifying  time.  It 
could  never  have  occurred  to  Walter  Hoxer 
that  all  his  years  of  labor,  the  aggregation 
of  the  material  values  of  industry,  experience, 
skill,  integrity,  could  be  nullified  by  this  mini 
mum  unit  of  space — as  sudden,  as  potent,  as 
destructive,  as  a  stroke  of  lightning.  But 
after  the  fact  it  did  not  remind  him  of  any 
agency  of  the  angry  skies ;  to  him  it  was  like 
one  of  the  obstructions  of  the  river  engineers 
to  divert  the  course  of  the  great  Mississippi, 
a  mattress-spur,  a  thing  insignificant  in  it 
self,  a  mere  trifle  of  woven  willow  wands,  set 
up  at  a  crafty  angle,  against  the  tumultuous 
current.  Yet  he  had  seen  the  swirling  waves, 
in  their  oncoming  like  innumerable  herds  of 
wild  horses,  hesitate  at  the  impact,  turn  aside, 
and  go  racing  by,  scouring  out  a  new  channel, 
leaving  the  old  bank  bereft,  thrown  inland, 
no  longer  the  margin  of  the  stream. 

The  river  was  much  in  his  mind  that  after- 

78 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

noon  as  he  trudged  along  the  county  road 
at  the  base  of  the  levee,  on  his  way,  all  un- 
prescient,  to  meet  this  signal,  potential  mo 
ment.  Outside,  he  knew  that  the  water  was 
standing  higher  than  his  head,  rippling 
against  the  thick  turf  of  Bermuda  grass  with 
which  the  great  earthwork  was  covered.  For 
the  river  was  bank-full  and  still  rising — in 
deed,  it  was  feared  that  an  overflow  im 
pended.  However,  there  was  as  yet  no 
break;  advices  from  up  the  river  and  down 
the  river  told  only  of  extra  precautions  and 
constant  work  to  keep  the  barriers  intact 
against  the  increasing  volume  of  the  stream. 
The  favorable  chances  were  reinforced  by 
the  fact  of  a  singularly  dry  winter,  that  had 
so  far  eliminated  the  danger  from  back-water, 
which,  if  aggregated  from  rainfall  in  low- 
lying  swamps,  would  move  up  slowly  to  inun 
date  the  arable  lands.  These  were  already 
ploughed  to  bed  up  for  cotton,  and  an  over 
flow  now  would  mean  the  loss  of  many  thou 
sands  of  dollars  to  the  submerged  com 
munities.  The  February  rains  had  begun  in 
the  upper  country,  with  a  persistency  and 
volume  that  bade  fair  to  compensate  for  the 

79 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

long-continued  drought,  and  thus  the  river 
was  already  booming;  the  bayous  that  drew 
off  a  vast  surplusage  of  its  waters  were  over 
charged,  and  gradually  would  spread  out  in 
murky  shallows,  heavily  laden  with  river 
detritus,  over  the  low  grounds  bordering  their 
course. 

"  This  Jeffrey  levee  will  hold,"  Hoxer 
said  to  himself,  as  once  he  paused,  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  his  cap  on  the  back  of  his  red 
head,  his  freckled,  commonplace,  square  face 
lifted  into  a  sort  of  dignity  by  the  light  of 
expert  capacity  and  intelligence  in  his  bluff 
blue  eyes.  He  had  been  muttering  to  himself 
the  details  of  its  construction:  so  many  feet 
across  the  base  in  proportion  to  its  height, 
the  width  of  the  summit,  the  angle  of  the  in 
cline  of  its  interior  slope — the  exterior  being 
invisible,  having  the  Mississippi  River  stand 
ing  against  it.  * '  A  fairly  good  levee,  though 
an  old  one,"  he  muttered.  "  I'll  bet,  though, 
Major  Jeffrey  feels  mightily  like  Noah  when 
he  looks  at  all  that  water  out  there  tearing 
through  the  country. ' ' 

His  face  clouded  at  the  mention  of  the 
name,  and  as  he  took  the  short  pipe  from 

80 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

his  mouth  and  stuck  it  into  the  pocket  of  his 
loose  sack-coat  his  tread  lost  a  certain  free 
elasticity  that  had  characterized  it  hitherto, 
and  he  trudged  on  doggedly.  He  had  passed 
many  acres  of  ploughed  lands,  the  road  run 
ning  between  the  fields  and  the  levee.  The 
scene  was  all  solitary;  the  sun  had  set,  and 
night  would  presently  be  coming  on.  As  he 
turned  in  at  the  big  white  gate  that  opened  on 
a  long  avenue  of  oaks  leading  to  the  man 
sion  house,  he  began  to  fear  that  his  visit 
might  be  ill-timed,  and  that  a  man  of  his  sta 
tion  could  not  hope  for  an  audience  so  near 
the  major's  dinner-hour. 

It  was  with  definite  relief  that  he  heard 
the  gentle  impact  of  ivory  balls  in  the  absolute 
quiet,  and  he  remembered  that  a  certain  little 
octagonal  structure  with  a  conical  red  roof, 
in  the  grounds,  was  a  billiard-room,  for  the 
sound  betokened  that  he  might  find  the  owner 
of  the  place  here. 

He  expected  to  see  a  group  of  the  Major's 
"  quality  friends  '  in  the  building  but  as  he 
ascended  the  steps  leading  directly  to  the 
door,  he  perceived  that  the  man  he  sought 
was  alone.  Major  Jeffrey  was  engaged  in 

6  81 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

idly  knocking  the  balls  about  in  some  skilful 
fancy  shots,  his  cigar  in  his  mouth,  and  a 
black  velvet  smoking-jacket  setting  off  to 
special  advantage  his  dense,  snowy  hair,  pre 
maturely  white,  his  long  mustache,  and  his 
pointed  imperial.  His  heavy  white  eyebrows 
drew  frowningly  together  over  arrogant  dark 
eyes  as  he  noted  the  man  at  the  entrance. 

Despite  Hoxer 's  oft-reiterated  sentiment 
that  he  was  "  as  good  as  anybody  and  would 
take  nothing  off  nobody,  and  cared  for  no  old 
duck  just  because  he  was  rich,"  he  could  not 
speak  for  a  moment  as  he  felt  Major  Jef 
frey's  inimical  eyes  upon  him.  He  lost  the 
advantage  in  losing  the  salutation. 

"  Did  you  get  my  check!  "  Major  Jeffrey 
asked  curtly. 

"  Yes,"  Hoxer  admitted;  "  but " 

"  The  amount  was  according  to  contract." 

Hoxer  felt  indignant  with  himself  that  he 
should  have  allowed  this  interpretation  to  be 
placed  on  his  presence  here ;  then  he  still  more 
resented  the  conjecture. 

"  I  have  not  come  for  extra  money,"  he 
said.  "  That  point  of  the  transaction  is 
closed." 

"  All  the  points  of  the  transaction  are 
32 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

closed,"  said  Major  Jeffrey,  ungraciously. 
There  was  more  than  the  flush  of  the  waning 
western  sky  on  his  face.  He  had  already 
dined,  and  he  was  one  of  those  wine-bibbers 
whom  drink  does  not  render  genial.  u  I 
want  to  hear  no  more  about  it. ' ' 

He  turned  to  the  table,  and  with  a  skilful 
cue  sent  one  ball  caroming  against  two 
others. 

11  But  you  must  hear  what  I  have  got  to 
say,  Major  Jeffrey,"  protested  Hoxer.  "  I 
built  that  cross-levee  for  you  to  join  your 
main  levee,  and  done  it  well." 

"  And  have  been  well  paid." 

"  But  you  go  and  say  at  the  store  that  I 
deviated  from  the  line  of  survey  and  saved 
one  furlong,  seven  poles,  and  five  feet  of 
levee." 

*  '  And  so  you  did. ' ' 

"  But  you  know,  Major,  that  Burbeck 
Lake  had  shrunk  in  the  drought  at  the  time  of 
the  survey,  and  if  I'd  followed  the  calls  for 
the  south  of  the  lake,  I'd  had  to  build  in  four 
feet  of  water,  so  I  drew  back  a  mite — you 
bein'  in  Orleans,  where  I  couldn't  consult  you, 
an'  no  time  to  be  lost  nohow,  the  river  bein' 
then  on  the  rise,  an' " 

83 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

"  Look  here,  fellow,"  exclaimed  Major 
Jeffrey,  bringing  the  cue  down  on  the  table 
with  a  force  that  must  have  cut  the  cloth,  "do 
you  suppose  that  I  have  nothing  better  to  do 
than  to  stand  here  to  listen  to  your  fool 
harangue?  " 

The  anger  and  the  drink  and  perhaps  the 
consciousness  of  being  in  the  wrong  were  all 
ablaze  in  the  Major's  eyes. 

The  two  were  alone;  only  the  darkling 
shadows  stood  at  tiptoe  at  the  open  windows, 
and  still  the  flushed  sky  sent  down  a  pervasive 
glow  from  above. 

Hoxer  swallowed  hard,  gulping  down  his 
own  wrath  and  sense  of  injury.  "  Major," 
he  said  blandly,  trying  a  new  deal,  "I  don't 
think  you  quite  understand  me. ' ' 

"  Such  a  complicated  proposition  you 
are,  to  be  sure!  " 

Hoxer  disregarded  the  sarcasm,  the  con 
tempt  in  the  tone. 

"  I  am  not  trying  to  rip  up  an  old  score, 
but  you  said  at  Winfield's  store — at  the  store 
— that  I  did  not  build  the  cross  levee  on  the 
surveyor's  line;  that  I  shortened  it— 

"  So  you  did." 

11  But  as  if  I  had  shortened  the  levee  for 

84 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

my  own  profit,  when,  as  you  know,  it  was  paid 
for  by  the  pole " 

' i  You  tax  me  with  making  a  false  impres 
sion?  " 

An  extreme  revulsion  of  expectation 
harassed  Hoxer.  He  had  always  known  that 
Jeffrey  was  an  exception  to  the  general  rule 
of  the  few  large  land-owners  in  the  com 
munity,  who  were  wont  to  conserve  and,  in 
fact,  to  deserve  the  pose  of  kindly  patron  as 
well  as  wealthy  magnate.  But  even  Jeffrey, 
he  thought,  would  not  grudge  a  word  to  set 
a  matter  straight  that  could  cost  him  nothing 
and  would  mean  much  to  the  levee-contractor. 
Though  of  large  experience  in  levee-building, 
Hoxer  was  new  to  the  position  of  contractor, 
having  been  graduated  into  it,  so  to  speak, 
from  the  station  of  foreman  of  a  construc 
tion-gang  of  Irishmen.  He  had  hoped  for 
further  employ  in  this  neighborhood,  in  build 
ing  private  levees  that,  in  addition  to  the 
main  levees  along  the  banks  of  the  Missis 
sippi,  would  aid  riparian  protection  by  turn 
ing  off  overflow  from  surcharged  bayous  and 
encroaching  lakes  in  the  interior.  But,  un 
luckily,  the  employer  of  the  first  enterprise 
he  had  essayed  on  his  own  responsibility  had 

85 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

declared  that  he  had  deviated  from  the  line 
of  survey,  usually  essential  to  the  validity  of 
the  construction,  thereby  much  shortening  the 
work;  and  had  made  this  statement  at  Win- 
field's  store — at  the  store ! 

Whatever  was  said  at  the  store  was  as 
if  proclaimed  through  the  resounding  trump 
of  fame.  The  store  in  a  Mississippi  neigh 
borhood,  frequented  by  the  surrounding 
planters,  great  and  small,  was  the  focus  of 
civilization,  the  dispenser  of  all  the  wares  of 
the  world,  from  a  spool  of  thread  to  a  two- 
horse  wagon,  the  post-office,  in  a  manner  the 
club.  Here,  sooner  or  later,  everybody  came, 
and  hence  was  the  news  of  the  Bend  noised 
abroad.  Hoxer's  business  could  scarcely  re 
cover  from  this  disparagement,  and  he  had 
not  doubted  that  Jeffrey  would  declare  that 
he  had  said  nothing  to  justify  this  impression, 
and  that  he  would  forthwith  take  occasion  to 
clear  it  up.  For  were  not  Mr.  Tompkins  and 
Judge  Claris,  both  with  a  severe  case  of 
"  high- water  scare/'  ready  to  contract  for 
a  joint  cross  levee  for  mutual  protection  from 
an  unruly  bayou! 

Therefore,  with  a  sedulous  effort,  Hoxer 
maintained  his  composure  when   the  Major 

80 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

thundered  again,  "  You  tax  me  with  making 
a  false  impression?  " 

"  Not  intentionally,  Major,  but " 

"  And  who  are  you  to  judge  of  my 
motives?  Told  a  lie  by  accident,  did  I?  Be 
gone,  sir,  or  I'll  break  your  head  with  this 
billiard  cue!  " 

He  had  reached  the  limit  as  he  brandished 
the  cue.  He  was  still  agile,  vigorous,  and  it 
was  scarcely  possible  that  Hoxer  could 
escape  the  blow.  He  dreaded  the  indignity 
indeed  more  than  the  hurt. 

"  If  you  strike  me,"  he  declared  in  a 
single  breath,  between  his  set  teeth,  ' '  before 
God,  I'll  shoot  you  with  your  own  pistol!  " 

It  seemed  a  fatality  that  a  pair  in  their 
open  case  should  have  been  lying  on  the  sill 
of  the  window,  where  their  owner  had  just 
been  cleaning  and  oiling  them.  Hoxer,  of 
course,  had  no  certainty  that  they  were 
loaded,  but  the  change  in  Jeffrey's  expres 
sion  proclaimed  it.  He  was  sober  enough 
HOW — the  shock  was  all  sufficient — as  he 
sprang  to  the  case.  The  younger  man  was 
the  quicker.  He  had  one  of  the  pistols  in  his 
hand  before  Jeffrey  could  level  the  other  that 
he  had  snatched.  Quicker  to  fire,  too,  for 

87 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

the  weapon  in  Jeffrey's  hand  was  discharged 
in  his  latest  impulse  of  action  after  he  fell 
to  the  floor,  the  blood  gushing  from  a  wound 
that  crimsoned  all  the  delicate  whiteness  of 
his  shirt-front  and  bedabbled  his  snowy  hair 
and  beard. 

This  was  the  moment,  the  signal,  fatal, 
final  moment,  that  the  levee  contractor  had 
come  to  meet,  that  placed  the  period  to  his 
own  existence.  He  lived  no  longer,  Hoxer 
felt.  He  did  not  recognize  as  hir:  own  a 
single  action  hereafter,  a  single  mental  im 
pulse.  It  was  something  else,  standing  here 
in  the  red  gloaming — some  foreign  entity, 
cogently  reasoning,  swiftly  acting.  Self- 
defense — was  it?  And  who  would  believe 
that!  Had  he  found  justice  so  alert  to  re 
dress  his  wrongs,  even  in  a  little  matter, 
that  he  must  needs  risk  his  neck  upon  it! 
This  Thing  that  was  not  himself — no,  never 
more! — had  the  theory  of  alibi  in  his  mind 
as  he  stripped  off  his  low-cut  shoes  and 
socks,  thrusting  them  into  his  pockets,  leap 
ing  from  the  door,  and  flying  among  the 
dusky  shadows  down  the  glooming  grove, 
and  through  the  gate. 

Dusk  here,  too,  on  the  lonely  county  road, 

88 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

the  vague  open  expanse  of  the  ploughed 
fields  glimmering  to  the  instarred  sky  of  a 
still,  chill  night  of  early  February.  He  did 
not  even  wonder  that  there  should  be  no  hue 
and  cry  on  his  tracks — the  Thing  was  logi 
cal!  Jeffrey  had  doubtless  had  his  pistols 
carried  down  from  the  mansion  to  him  in 
his  den  in  the  billiard-room,  for  the  avowed 
purpose  of  putting  the  weapons  in  order. 
If  the  shots  were  heard  at  all  at  the  dwelling, 
the  sound  was  reasonably  ascribed  to  the 
supposed  testing  of  the  weapons.  Hoxer 
was  conscious  that  a  sentiment  of  gratula- 
tion,  of  sly  triumph,  pervaded  his  mental 
processes  as  he  sped  along  barefoot,  like 
some  tramp  or  outcast,  or  other  creature  of 
a  low  station.  He  had  laid  his  plans  well 
(in  this  curious,  involuntary  cerebration. 
Those  big,  bare  footprints  were  ample  dis 
guise  for  a  well-clad,  well-groomed,  well- 
shod  middle-class  man  of  a  skilful  and  lucra 
tive  employ.  The  next  moment  his  heart 
sank  like  lead.  He  was  followed!  He 
heard  the  pursuit  in  the  dark!  Swift,  un 
erring,  leaping  along  the  dusty  road,  leav 
ing  its  own  footprints  as  a  testimony 
against  him.  For  he  had  recognized  its 

89 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

nature  at  last !  It  was  his  own  dog — a  little, 
worthless  cur,  that  had  a  hide  like  a  door 
mat  and  a  heart  as  big  as  the  United  States 
— a  waif,  a  stray,  that  had  attached  himself 
to  the  contractor  at  the  shanties  of  the  con 
struction  gang,  and  slept  by  his  bed,  and 
followed  at  his  heel,  and  lived  on  the  glance 
of  his  eye. 

He  was  off  again,  the  dog  fairly  winging 
his  way  to  match  his  master's  speed. 
Hoxer  could  not  kill  him  here,  for  the  carcass 
would  tell  the  story.  But  was  it  not  told 
already  in  those  tracks  in  the  dusty  road? 
What  vengeance  was  there  not  written  in  the 
eccentric  script  of  those  queer  little  padded 
imprints  of  the  creature's  paws.  Fie,  fool! 
Was  this  the  only  cur-dog  in  the  Bend?  he 
asked  himself,  impatient  of  his  fears.  Was 
not  the  whole  neighborhood  swarming  with 
canine  dependents! 

Despdte  his  reasoning,  this  endowment 
that  was  once  himself  had  been  affrighted  by 
the  shock.  The  presence  of  the  little  cur- 
dog  had  destroyed  the  complacence  of  his 
boasted  ratiocination.  He  had  only  the  in 
stincts  of  flight  as  he  struck  off  through 
the  woods  when  the  great  expanse  of  culti- 

90 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

vated  lands  had  given  way  to  lower  ground 
and  the  wide  liberties  of  the  ' '  open  swamp, ' ' 
as  it  was  called.  This  dense  wilderness 
stretched  out  on  every  side;  the  gigantic 
growth  of  gum  trees  was  leafless  at  this 
season,  and  without  a  suggestion  of  under 
brush.  The  ground  was  as  level  as  a  floor. 
Generally  during  the  winter  the  open  swamp 
is  covered  with  shallow  water,  but  in  this 
singularly  droughty  season  it  had  remained 
"with  dry  feet,"  according  to  the  phrase 
of  that  country.  The  southern  moon,  rising 
far  along  its  levels,  began  to  cast  burnished 
golden  shafts  of  light  adown  its  unob 
structed  vistas.  It  might  seem  some  mag 
nificent  park,  with  its  innumerable  splendid 
trees,  its  great  expanse,  and  ever  and  anon 
in  the  distance  the  silver  sheen  of  the  waters 
of  a  lake,  shining  responsive  to  the  lunar 
lustre  as  with  an  inherent  lustre  of  its  own. 
On  and  on  he  went,  his  noiseless  tread 
falling  as  regularly  as  machinery,  leaving 
miles  behind  him,  the  distance  only  to  be 
conjectured  by  the  lapse  of  time,  and,  after 
so  long,  his  flagging  strength.  'He  began  to 
notice  that  the  open  swamp  was  giving  way 
in  the  vicinity  of  one  of  the  lakes  to  the 

91 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

characteristics  of  the  swamp  proper, 
although  the  ground  was  still  dry  and  the 
going  good.  He  had  traversed  now  and 
then  a  higher  ridge  on  which  switch-cane 
grew  somewhat  sparsely,  but  near  the  lake 
on  a  bluff  bank  a  dense  brake  of  the  heavier 
cane  filled  the  umbrageous  shadows,  so  tall 
and  rank  and  impenetrable  a  growth  that 
once  the  fugitive  paused  to  contemplate  it 
with  the  theory  that  a  secret  intrusted  to  its 
sombre  seclusions  might  be  held  intact  for 
ever. 

As  he  stood  thus  motionless  in  the  abso 
lute  stillness,  a  sudden  thought  came  to  his 
mind — a  sudden  and  terrible  thought.  He 
could  not  be  sure  whether  he  had  heard 
aught,  or  whether  the  sight  of  the  water  sug 
gested  the  idea.  He  knew  that  he  could 
little  longer  sustain  his  flight,  despite  his 
vigor  and  strength.  Quivering  in  every 
fibre  from  his  long  exertions,  he  set  his 
course  straight  for  that  glimmering  sheen  of 
water.  Encircling  it  were  heavy  shadows. 
Tall  trees  pressed  close  to  the  verge,  where 
lay  here  a  fallen  branch,  and  there  a  rotten 
log,  half  sunken  in  mud  and  ooze,  and  again 
a  great  tangle  of  vines  that  had  grown 

92 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

smiling  to  the  summer  sun,  but  now,  with  the 
slow  expansion  of  the  lake  which  was  fed 
by  a  surcharged  bayou,  quite  submerged  in 
a  fretwork  of  miry  strands.  The  margin 
was  fringed  with  saw-grass,  thick  and 
prickly,  and  his  practised  eye  could  discern 
where  the  original  banks  lay  by  the  spears 
thrust  up  above  the  surface  a  score  of  feet 
away.  Thus  he  was  sure  of  his  depth  as  he 
waded  out  staunchly,  despite  the  cruel  pricks 
to  his  sensitive  naked  feet.  The  little  dog 
had  scant  philosophy;  he  squeaked  and 
wheezed  and  wailed  with  the  pain  until  the 
man,  who  had  no  time  to  kill  him  now — for 
had  he  heard  aught  or  naught? — picked  him 
up  and  carried  him  in  his  arms,  the  creature 
licking  Hoxer's  hands  in  an  ecstasy  of  grati 
tude,  and  even  standing  on  his  hind-legs  on 
his  master's  arm  to  snatch  a  lick  upon  his 
cheek. 

In  the  darksome  shadows,  further  and 
further  from  the  spot  where  he  had  entered 
the  lake,  Hoxer  toiled  along  the  margin, 
sometimes  pausing  to  listen — for  had  he 
heard  aught  or  naught! — as  long  as  his 
strength  would  suffice.  Then  amidst  the 
miry  debris  of  last  summer's  growths  be- 

93 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

neath  the  recent  inundation  lie  sank  down 
in  the  darkness,  the  dog  exhausted  in  his 
arms. 

This  was  one  of  those  frequent  crescent- 
shaped  lakes  peculiar  to  the  region;  some 
times,  miles  in  extent,  the  lacustrine  contour 
is  not  discernible  to  the  glance;  here  the 
broad  expanse  seemed  as  if  the  body  of 
water  were  circular  and  perhaps  three  miles 
in  diameter. 

Suddenly  Hoxer  heard  the  sound  that 
had  baffled  him  hitherto — heard  it  again  and 
— oh,  horrible! — recognized  it  at  last!  The 
baying  of  bloodhounds  it  was,  the  trium 
phant  cry  that  showed  that  the  brutes  had 
caught  the  trail  and  were  keeping  it.  On 
and  on  came  the  iteration,  ever  louder,  ever 
nearer,  waking  the  echoes  till  wood  and 
brake  and  midnight  waters  seemed  to  rock 
and  sway  with  the  sound,  and  the  stars  in 
the  sky  to  quake  in  unison  with  the  vibra 
tions.  Never  at  fault,  never  a  moment's 
cessation,  and  presently  the  shouts  of  men 
and  the  tramp  of  horses  blended  with  that 
deep,  tumultuous  note  of  blood  crying  to 
heaven  for  vengeance.  Far,  far,  down  the 
lake  it  was.  Hoxer  could  see  nothing  of  the 

94 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

frantic  rout  when  the  hounds  paused  baffled 
at  the  water-side.  He  was  quick  to  note  the 
changed  tone  of  the  brutes'  pursuit,  plain 
tive,  anxious,  consciously  thwarted.  They 
ran  hither  and  thither,  patrolling  the  banks, 
and  with  all  their  boasted  instinct  they  could 
only  protest  that  the  fugitive  took  to  water 
at  this  spot.  But  how  1  They  could  not  say, 
and  the  men  argued  in  vain.  The  lake  was 
too  broad  to  swim — there  was  no  island,  no 
point  of  vantage.  A  boat  might  have  taken 
him  off,  and,  if  so,  the  craft  would  now  be 
lying  on  the  opposite  bank.  A  party  set  off 
to  skirt  the  edge  of  the  lake  and  explore 
the  further  shores  by  order  of  the  sheriff, 
for  this  officer,  summoned  by  telephone,  had 
come  swiftly  from  the  county  town  in  an 
automobile,  to  the  verge  of  the  swamp,  there 
accommodated  with  a  horse  by  a  neighboring 
planter.  And  then,  Hoxer,  lying  on  the 
elastic  submerged  brush,  with  only  a  portion 
of  his  face  above  the  surface  of  the  water, 
watched  in  a  speechless  ecstasy  of  terror  the 
hue  and  cry  progress  on  the  hither  side,  his 
dog,  half  dead  from  exhaustion,  unconscious 
in  his  arms. 

The    moon,    unmoved    as    ever,    looked 
95 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

calmly  down  on  the  turmoil  in  the  midst  of 
the  dense  woods.  The  soft  brilliance 
illumined  the  long,  open  vistas  and  gave  to 
the  sylvan  intricacies  an  effect  as  of  silver 
arabesques,  a  glittering  tracery  amidst  the 
shadows.  But  the  lunar  light  did  not  suf 
fice.  Great  torches  of  pine  knots,  with  a  red 
and  yellow  flare  and  streaming  pennants  of 
smoke,  darted  hither  and  thither  as  the 
officer's  posse  searched  the  bosky  recesses 
without  avail. 

Presently  a  new  sound! — a  crashing 
iter'ation — assailed  the  air.  A  frantic 
crowd  was  beating  the  bushes  about  the 
margin  of  the  lake  and  the  verges  of  the 
almost'  impenetrable  cane-brake.  Here, 
however,  there  could  be  no  hope  of  dis 
covery,  and  suddenly  a  cry  arose,  unani 
mously  iterated  the  next  instant,  "  Fire  the 
cane-brake!  Fire  the  cane-brake!  ' 

For  so  late  had  come  the  rise  of  the  river, 
so  persistent  had  been  the  winter's  drought, 
so  delayed  the  usual  inundation  of  the 
swamp,  that  the  vegetation,  dry  as  tinder, 
caught  the  sparks  instantly,  and  the  fierce 
expedient  to  force  the  fugitive  to  leave  his 
supposed  shelter  in  the  brake,  a  vast  wood- 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

land  conflagration,  was  added  to  the  terror 
of  the  scene.  The  flames  flared  frantically 
upward  from  the  cane,  itself  twenty  feet  in 
height,  and  along  its  dense  columns  issued 
forth  jets  like  the  volleyings  of  musketry 
from  serried  ranks  of  troops,  the  illusion 
enhanced  by  continuous  sharp,  rifle-like  re 
ports,  the  joints  of  the  growth  exploding  as 
the  air  within  was  liberated  by  the  heat  of  the 
fire.  All  around  this  blazing  Gehenna  were 
swiftly  running  figures  of  men  applying  with 
demoniac  suggestion  torches  here  and  there, 
that  a  new  area  might  be  involved.  Others 
were  mounted,  carrying  flaming  torches 
aloft,  the  restive  horses  plunging  in  frantic 
terror  of  the  fiery  furnace  in  the  depths  of 
the  brake,  the  leaping  sheets  of  flame,  the 
tumultuous  clouds  of  smoke.  Oh,  a  terrible 
fate,  had  the  forlorn  fugitive  sought  refuge 
here!  Let  us  hope  that  no  poor  denizen  of 
the  brake,  bear  or  panther  or  fox,  dazed  by 
the  tumult  and  the  terror,  forgot  which  way 
to  flee ! 

But  human  energies  must  needs  fail  as 
time  wears  on.  Nerves  of  steel  collapse  at 
last.  The  relinquishment  of  the  quest  came 
gradually;  the  crowd  thinned;  now  and 

7  97 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

again  the  sound  of  rapid  ho  of -beats  told  of 
homeward-bound  horsemen;  languid  groups 
stood  and  talked  dully  here  and  there,  dis 
persing  to  follow  a  new  suggestion  for  a 
space,  them  ultimately  disappearing;  even 
the  fire  began  to  die  out,  and  the  site  of  the 
cane-break  had  become  a  dense,  charred 
mass,  as  far  as  eye  could  reach,  with  here 
and  there  a  vague  blue  flicker  where  some 
bed  of  coals  could  yet  send  up  a  jet,  when  at 
length  the  pale  day,  slow  and  aghast,  came 
peering  along  the  levels  to  view  the  relics  of 
the  strange  events  that  had  betided  in  the 
watches  of  the  night. 

Hoxer  had  not  waited  for  the  light.  De 
riving  a  certain  strength,  a  certain  triumph, 
from  the  obvious  fact  that  the  end  was  not 
yet,  he  contrived  in  that  darkest  hour  be 
fore  the  dawn  to  pull  himself  into  a  sitting 
posture,  then  to  creep  out  to  the  shore.  The 
little  dog  had  seemed  to  be  dying,  but  he  too 
experienced  a  sort  of  resuscitation,  and 
while  he  followed  at  first  but  feebly,  it  was 
not  long  before  he  was  at  heel  again, 
although  Hoxer  was  swift  of  foot,  making 
all  the  speed  he  might  toward  his  temporary 
home,  the  shacks  that  had  been  occupied  by 


THIS  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

the  construction  gang.  As  he  came  within 
view  of  the  poor  little  tenements,  so  recently 
vacated  by  the  Irish  ditchers,  all  awry  and 
askew,  stretching  in  a  wavering  row  along 
the  river-bank  near  the  junction  of  the  levee 
that  he  had  built  with  the  main  line,  his  eyes 
filled.  Oh,  why  had  he  not  gone  with  the 
rest  of  the  camp?  he  demanded  of  an  un 
toward  fate ;  why  must  he  have  stayed  a  day 
longer  to  bespeak  the  correction  of  an  in 
jurious  error  from  that  proud,  hard  man, 
who,  however,  had  wrought  his  last  injury 
on  earth!  Hoxer  was  sorry,  but  chiefly  for 
his  own  plight.  He  felt  that  his  deed  was 
in  self-defense,  and  but  that  he  had  no 
proof  he  would  not  fear  to  offer  the  plea  at 
the  bar  of  justice.  As  it  was,  however,  he 
was  sanguine  of  escaping  without  this 
jeopardy.  No  one  had  cause  to  suspect  him. 
No  one  had  seen  him  enter  the  Jeffrey 
grounds  that  fatal  evening.  There  had 
been  noised  abroad  no  intimation  of  his 
grievance  against  the  man.  He  had  all  the 
calm  assurance  of  invisibility  as  he  came 
to  his  abode,  for  a  fog  lay  thick  on  the  sur 
face  of  the  river  and  hung  over  all  the  land. 
He  did  not  issue  forth  again  freshly  dressed 

99 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

till  the  sun  was  out  once  more,  dispelling 
the  vapors  and  conjuring  the  world  back  to 
sight  and  life.  Nevertheless,  he  made  no 
secret  of  having  been  abroad  when  an  ac 
quaintance  came  up  the  road  and  paused  for 
an  exchange  of  the  news  of  the  day. 

"  But  what  makes  ye  look  so  durned 
peaked?  "  he  broke  off,  gazing  at  Hoxer  in 
surprise. 

Hoxer  was  astonished  at  his  own  com 
posure  as  he  replied:  "  Out  all  night.  I 
was  in  the  swamp  with  the  posse." 

"  See  the  fire?  They  tell  me  't  wuz 
more'n  dangerous  to  fire  the  brake  when  the 
woods  is  so  uncommon  dry.  I  dunno  what 
we  would  do  here  in  the  bottom  with  a 
forest  fire." 

"  Pretty  big  blaze  now,  sure's  ye 're 
born,"  Hoxer  replied  casually,  and  so  the 
matter  passed. 

Later  in  the  day  another  gossip,  whose 
acquaintance  he  had  made  during  his  levee- 
building  venture,  loitered  up  to  talk  over  the 
absorbing  sensation,  and,  sitting  down  on 
the  door-step  of  the  shack,  grew  suddenly 
attentive  to  the  little  dog. 
100 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

"  What  makes  him  limp?  "  he  demanded 
abruptly. 

But  Hoxer  had  not  observed  that  he  did 
limp. 

The  acquaintance  had  taken  the  little 
animal  up  on  his  knee  and  was  examining 
into  his  condition.  ' '  Gee !  how  did  he  get  so 
footsore?  " 

"  Following  me  around,  I  reckon/7  Hoxer 
hazarded.  But  he  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  a 
change  on  the  stolid  face  of  the  visitor,  who 
was  unpleasantly  impressed  with  the  fact 
that  the  officers  investigating  fhe  case  had 
made  inquiries  concerning  a  small  dog  that, 
to  judge  by  the  prints  in  the  road,  had  evi 
dently  followed  the  big,  barefooted  man  who 
had  fled  from  the  Jeffrey  precincts  after  the 
shooting.  A  rumor,  too,  was  going  the 
rounds  that  a  detective,  reputed  preterna- 
turally  sharp,  who  had  accompanied  the 
sheriff  to  the  scene  of  action,  had  examined 
these  tracks  in  the  road,  and  declared  that 
the  foot-print  was  neither  that  of  a  negro 
nor  a  tramp,  but  of  a  white  man  used  to 
wearing  shoes  something  too  tightly  fitting. 

The  visitor  glanced  down  at  the  sub- 
101 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

stantial  foot-gear  of  the  contractor,  fitting 
somewhat  snugly,  and  thereafter  he  became 
more  out  of  countenance  than  before  and 
manifested  some  haste  to  get  away.  Hoxer 
said  to  himself  that  his  anxiety  whetted  his 
apprehension.  He  had  given  his  visitor  no 
cause  for  suspicion,  and  doubtless  the  man 
had  evolved  none.  Hoxer  was  glad  that  he 
was  due  and  overdue  to  be  gone  from  the 
locality.  He  felt  that  he  could  scarcely 
breathe  freely  again  till  he  had  joined  the 
gang  of  Irish  ditchers  now  establishing 
themselves  in  a  new  camp  in  the  adjoining 
county,  where  the  high  stage  of  the  river 
gave  him  employment  in  fighting  water.  He 
made  up  his  mind,  however,  that  he  would 
not  take  the  train  thither.  He  dreaded  to 
be  among  men,  to  encounter  question  and 
speculation,  till  he  had  time  to  regain  con 
trol  of  his  nerves,  his  facial  expression,  the 
tones  of  his  voice.  He  resolved  that  he 
would  quietly  drift  down  the  river  in  a  row- 
boat  that  had  been  at  his  disposal  during  his 
employment  here,  and  join  his  force  already 
settled  at  their  destination,  without  running 
the  gauntlet  of  inspection  by  tHe  neighbor 
hood  in  a  more  formal  departure.  He  had 

102 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

already  bidden  farewell  to  those  few  deni 
zens  of  the  Bend  with  whom  his  associations 
had  been  most  genial.  "  And  I'll  clear  out 
now,  as  I  would  have  done  if  nothing  had 
happened." 

He  said  no  more  of  his  intention  of  de 
parture,  but  when  night  had  come  he  fast 
ened  the  door  of  the  little  shanty,  in  which 
were  still  some  of  the  rude  belongings  of  his 
camping  outfit,  with  the  grim  determination 
tfhat  it  should  not  soon  be  opened  again. 
How  long  the  padlock  should  beat  the  sum 
mons  of  the  wind  on  the  resounding  battens 
he  did  not  dream! 

It  was  close  on  midnight  when  he  climbed 
the  steep  interior  slope  of  the  levee  and 
stood  for  a  moment  gazing  cautiously  about 
him.  The  rowboat  lay  close  by,  for  one 
might  embark  from  the  summit  of  the  levee. 
It  was  a  cloudy  night,  without  a  star.  A 
mist  clung  to  the  face  of  the  waters  on  the 
Arkansas  side,  but  on  the  hither  shore  the 
atmosphere  was  clear,  for  he  could  see  at  a 
considerable  distance  up  the  river  the  fire  of 
a  "  levee-watch,"  the  stage  of  the  water 
being  so  menacing  that  a  guard  must  needs 
be  on  duty  throughout  the  nigfft.  The  leap- 

103 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

ing  flames  of  the  fire  cast  long  lines  of  red 
and  yellow  and  a  sort  of  luminous  brown 
far  into  the  river,  where  the  reflection 
seemed  to  palpitate  in  the  pulsations  of  the 
current.  No  other  sign  of  life  was  in  the 
night  scene,  save  in  the  opposite  direction, 
amidst  the  white  vapors,  the  gem-like  gleam 
of  a  steamer's  chimney-lights,  all  ruby  and 
emerald,  as  a  packet  was  slowly  rounding 
the  neighboring  point.  Hoxer  could  hear 
the  impact  of  her  paddles  on  the  water,  the 
night  being  so  still.  He  had  seated  himself 
in  the  middle  of  the  rowboat  and  laid  hold  on 
the  oars  when  his  foot  struck  against  some 
thing  soft  on  the  bottom  of  the  craft,  partly 
under  the  seat  in  the  stern.  It  was  his 
bundle,  he  thought,  containing  the  spoiled 
clothing  that  he  had  worn  in  the  swamp,  and 
which  he  intended  to  sink  in  mid-stream. 
His  nerve  was  shaken,  however;  he  could 
not  restrain  a  sudden  exclamation — this 
must  have  seemed  discovery  rather  than 
agitation.  It  was  as  a  signal  for  premature 
action.  He  was  suddenly  seized  from  be 
hind,  his  arms  held  down  against  his  sides, 
his  hands  close  together.  The  bundle  in  the 
stern  rose  all  at  once  to  the  stature  of  a  man. 

104 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

The  touch  of  cold  metal,  a  sharp,  quick  click, 
— and  he  was  captured  and  handcuffed 
within  the  space  of  ten  seconds. 

A  terrible  struggle  ensued,  which  his 
great  strength  but  sufficed  to  prolong.  His 
wild,  hoarse  cries  of  rage  and  desperation 
seemed  to  beat  against  the  sky;  back  and 
forth  the  dark  riparian  forests  repeated 
them  with  the  effect  of  varying  distance  in 
the  echoes,  till  all  the  sombre  woods  seemed 
full  of  mad,  frantic  creatures,  shrieking  out 
their  helpless  frenzy.  More  than  once  his 
superior  muscle  sufficed  to  throw  off  both  the 
officers  for  a  moment,  but  to  what  avail? 
Thus  manacled,  he  could  not  escape. 

Suddenly  a  wild,  new  clamor  resounded 
from  the  shore.  In  the  dusky  uncertainty, 
a  group  of  men  were  running  down  the  bank, 
shouting  out  to  the  barely  descried  boatmen 
imperative  warnings  that  they  would  break 
the  levee  in  their  commotion,  coupled  with 
violent  threats  if  they  did  not  desist.  For 
the  force  with  which  the  rowboat  dashed 
against  the  summit  of  the  levee,  rebounding 
again  and  again,  laden  with  the  weight  of 
three  ponderous  men,  and  endowed  with  all 
the  impetus  of  their  struggle,  so  eroded  the 

105 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

earth  that  the  waves  had  gained  an  entrance, 
the  initial  step  to  a  crevasse  that  would  flood 
the  country  with  a  disastrous  overflow.  As 
there  was  no  abatement  of  the  blows  of  the 
boat  against  the  embankment,  no  reply  nor 
explanation,  a  shot  from  the  gun  of  one  of 
the  levee-watch  came  skipping  lightsomely 
over  the  water  as  Hoxer  was  borne  ex 
hausted  to  the  bottom  of  the  skiff.  Then, 
indeed,  the  sheriff  of  the  county  bethought 
himself  to  shout  out  his  name  and  official  sta 
tion  to  the  astonished  group  on  shore,  and 
thus,  bullet-proof  under  the  asgis  of  the  law, 
the  boat  pulled  out  toward  the  steamer,  lying 
in  mid-stream,  silently  awaiting  the  coming 
of  the  officer  and  his  prisoner,  a  great,  tower 
ing,  castellated  object,  half  seen  in  the  night, 
her  broadside  of  cabin  lights,  and  their  re 
flection  in  the  ripples,  sparkling  through  the 
darkness  like  a  chain  of  golden  stars. 

They  left  no  stress  of  curiosity  behind 
them;  naught  in  the  delta  can  compete  in 
interest  with  the  threatened  collapse  of  a 
levee  in  times  of  high  water.  Before  the 
rowboat  had  reached  the  steamer's  side,  its 
occupants  could  hear  the  great  plantation- 
bell  ringing  like  mad  to  summon  forth  into 

106 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

the  midnight  all  available  hands  to  save  the 
levee,  and,  looking  back  presently,  a  hundred 
lanterns  were  seen  flickering  hither  and 
thither,  far  down  in  the  dusk — no  illusion 
this,  for  all  deltaic  rivers  are  higher  in  the 
centre  than  their  banks — where  the  busy 
laborers,  with  thousands  of  gunny-sacks 
filled  with  sand,  were  fighting  the  Missis 
sippi,  building  a  barricade  to  fence  it  from 
the  rich  spoils  it  coveted. 

The  packet,  which,  as  it  happened,  was 
already  overdue,  had  been  telephoned  by 
the  officers  at  her  last  landing,  and  a  num 
ber  of  men  stood  on  the  guards  expectant. 
Hoxer  had  ceased  to  struggle.  He  looked 
up  at  the  steamer,  his  pallid  face  and  wide, 
distended  eyes  showing  in  the  cabin  lights, 
as  the  rowboat  pulled  alongside.  Then  as 
the  sheriff  directed  him  to  rise,  he  stood  up 
at  his  full  height,  stretched  his  manacled 
hands  high  above  his  head,  and  suddenly 
dived  into  deep  water,  leaving  the  boat  rock 
ing  violently,  and  in  danger  of  capsizing  with 
the  officers. 

A  desperate  effort  was  made  to  recover 
the  prisoner,  alive  or  dead — all  in  vain.  A 
roustabout  on  the  deck  declared  that  in  the 

107 


THE  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

glare  of  the  steamer's  search-light,  thrown 
over  the  murky  waters,  he  was  seen  to  come 
to  the  surface  once,  but  if  he  rose  a  second 
time  it  must  have  been  beneath  the  great 
bulk  of  the  packet,  to  go  down  again  to  the 
death  awaiting  him  in  the  deeps. 

On  the  bank  a  little  dog  sat  through  sun 
shine  and  shadow  in  front  of  the  door  of  the 
shack  of  the  contractor  of  the  levee-con 
struction  gang,  and  awaited  his  return  with 
the  patient  devotion  of  his  kind.  Some 
times,  as  the  padlock  wavered  in  the  wind,  he 
would  cock  his  head  briskly  askew,  forecast 
ing  from  the  sound  a  step  within.  Some 
times  the  grief  of  absence  and  hope  deferred 
would  wring  his  humble  heart,  and  he  would 
whimper  in  an  access  of  misery  and  limp 
about  a  bit.  But  presently  he  would  be 
seated  again,  alertly  upright,  his  eyes  on 
the  door,  for  the  earliest  glimpse  of  the  face 
that  he  loved.  When  the  overflow  came  at 
last  the  shacks  of  the  construction  gang  were 
swept  away,  and  the  little  dog  was  seen  no 
more. 


108 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

The  old  sawmill  on  Headlong  Creek  at 
the  water-gap  of  Chilhowee  Mountain  was 
silent  and  still  one  day,  its  habit  of  industry 
suggested  only  in  the  ample  expanse  of  saw 
dust  spread  thickly  over  a  level  open  space 
in  the  woods  hard  by,  to  serve  as  footing 
for  the  "  bran  dance  "  that  had  been  so 
long  heralded  and  that  was  destined  to  end 
so  strangely. 

A  barbecue  had  added  its  attractions,  un 
rivalled  in  the  estimation  of  the  rustic 
epicure,  but  even  while  the  shoats,  with  the 
delectable  flavor  imparted  by  underground 
roasting  and  browned  to  a  turn,  were  under 
discussion  by  the  elder  men  and  the  sun- 
bonneted  matrons  on  a  shady  slope  near  the 
mill,  where  tablecloths  had  been  spread  be 
side  a  crystal  spring,  the  dance  went  cease 
lessly  on,  as  if  the  flying  figures  were  in 
sensible  of  fatigue,  impervious  to  hunger, 
immune  from  heat. 

Indeed  the  youths  and  maidens  of  the 
contiguous  coves  and  ridges  had  rarely  so 
eligible  an  opportunity,  for  it  is  one  of  the 

109 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

accepted  tenets  of  the  rural  religionist  that 
dancing  in  itself  is  a  deadly  sin,  and  all  the 
pulpits  of  the  countryside  had  Joined  in  ful- 
minations  against  it.  Nothing  less  than  a 
political  necessity  had  compassed  this  joyous 
occasion.  It  was  said  to  have  been  devised 
by  the  "  machine  "  to  draw  together  the 
largest  possible  crowd,  that  certain  candi 
dates  might  present  their  views  on  burning 
questions  of  more  than  local  importance,  in 
order  to  secure  vigorous  and  concerted  ac 
tion  at  the  polls  in  the  luke-warm  rural  dis 
tricts  when  these  measures  should  go  before 
the  people,  in  the  person  of  their  advocates, 
at  the  approaching  primary  elections. 
However,  even  the  wisdom  of  a  political  boss 
is  not  infallible,  and  despite  the  succulent 
graces  of  the  barbecue  numbers  of  the  ascetic 
and  jeans-clad  elder  worthies,  though  fed  to 
'repletion,  collogued  unhappily  together; 
among  the  ox-teams  and  canvas-hooded 
wagons  on  the  slope,  commenting  sourly  on 
the  frivoKty  of  the  dance.  These  might  be 
relied  on  to  cast  no  ballots  in  the  interest  of 
its  promoters,  with  whose  views  they  were 
to  be  favored  between  the  close  of  the  feast 
and  the  final  dance  before  sunset. 
no 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

The  trees  waved  full-foliaged  branches 
above  the  circle  of  sawdust  and  dappled 
the  sunny  expanse  with  flickering  shade,  and 
as  they  swayed  apart  in  the  wind  they  gave 
evanescent  glimpses  of  tiers  on  tiers  of  the 
faint  blue  mountains  of  the  Great  Smoky 
Eange  in  the  distance,  seeming  ethereal, 
luminous,  seen  from  between  the  dark,  steep, 
wooded  slopes  of  the  narrow  watergap  hard 
by,  through  which  Headlong  Creek  plunged 
and  roared.  The  principal  musician,  perched 
with  his  fellows  on  a  hastily  erected  stand, 
was  burly,  red-faced,  and  of  a  jovial  aspect. 
He  had  a  brace  of  fiddlers,  one  on  each  side, 
but  with  his  own  violin  under  his  double- 
chin  he  alone  "  called  the  figures  "  of  the 
old-fashioned  contradances.  Now  and  again, 
with  a  wide,  melodious,  sonorous  voice,  he 
burst  into  a  snatch  of  song: 

"Shanghai  chicken  he  grew  so  tall, 
In  a  few  days — few  days, 
Cannot  hear  him  crow  at  all " 

Sometimes  he  would  intersperse  jocund 
personal  remarks  in  his  Terpsichorean  com 
mands:     "  Gents,  forward  to  the  centre — 
ill 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

back — swing  the  lady  ye  love  the  best." 
Then  in  alternation,  "  Ladies,  forward  to 

the  centre — back "  and  as  the  mountain 

damsels  teetered  in  expectation  of  the  usual 
supplement  of  this  mandate  he  called  out  in 
apparent  expostulation,  "  Don't  swing  him, 
Miss — he  don't  wuth  a  turn." 

Suddenly    the    tune    changed    and    with 
great  gusto  he  chanted  forth : 

"  When  fust  I  did  a-eourtin'  go, 
Says  she  '  ISTow,  don't  be  foolish,  Joe,'  " 

the  tempo  rubato  giving  fresh  impetus  to  the 
kaleidoscopic  whirl  of  the  dancers.  The 
young  men  were  of  indomitable  endurance 
and  manifested  a  crude  agility  as  they 
sprang  about  clumsily  in  time  to  the  scraping 
of  the  fiddles,  while  their  partners  shuffled 
bouncingly  or  sidled  mincingly  according  to 
their  individual  persuasion  of  the  most  apt 
expression  of  elegance.  Considered  from  a 
critical  point  of  view  the  dance  was  singu 
larly  devoid  of  grace — only  one  couple 
illustrating  the  exception  to  the  rule.  The 
youth  it  was  who  was  obviously  beautiful, 
of  a  type  as  old  as  the  fabled  Endymion. 

112 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

His  long  brown  hair  hung  in  heavy  curls  to 
the  collar  of  his  butternut  jeans  coat;  his 
eyes  were  blue  and  large  and  finely  set;  his 
face  was  fair  and  bespoke  none  of  the  mid 
day  toil  at  the  plow-handles  that  had  tanned 
the  complexion  of  his  compeers,  for  Brent 
Kayle  had  little  affinity  for  labor  of  any  sort. 
He  danced  with  a  light  firm  step,  every 
muscle  supplely  responsive  to  the  strongly 
marked  pulse  of  the  music,  and  he  had  a 
lithe,  erect  carriage  which  imparted  a  cer 
tain  picturesque  effect  to  his  presence,  de 
spite  his  much  creased  boots,  drawn  over  his 
trousers  to  the  knee,  and  his  big  black  hat 
which  he  wore  on  the  back  of  his  head.  The 
face  of  his  partner  had  a  more  subtle  appeal, 
and  so  light  and  willowy  was  her  figure  as 
she  danced  that  it  suggested  a  degree  of 
slenderness  that  bordered  on  attenuation. 
Her  unbonneted  hair  of  a  rich  blonde  hue 
had  a  golden  lustre  in  the  sun;  her  com 
plexion  was  of  an  exquisite  whiteness  and 
with  a  delicate  flush ;  the  chiseling  of  her  fea 
tures  was  peculiarly  fine,  in  clear,  sharp  lines 
—  she  was  called  "  hatchet-faced  "  by  her 
undiscriminating  friends.  She  wore  a 
coarse,  flimsy,  pink  muslin  dress  which 

8  113 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

showed  a  repetitions  pattern  of  vague  green 
leaves,  and  as  she  flitted,  lissome  and  sway 
ing,  through  the  throng,  with  the  wind 
a-flutter  in  her  full  draperies,  she  might 
have  suggested  to  a  spectator  the  semblance 
of  a  pink  flower — of  the  humbler  varieties, 
perhaps,  but  still  a  wild  rose  is  a  rose. 

Even  the  longest  dance  must  have  an 
end ;  even  the  stanchest  mountain  fiddler  will 
reach  at  last  his  limit  of  endurance  and  must 
needs  be  refreshed  and  fed.  There  was  a 
sudden  significant  flourish  of  frisky  bowing, 
now  up  and  again  down,  enlisting  every 
resonant  capacity  of  horsehair  and  catgut; 
the  violins  quavered  to  a  final  long-drawn 
scrape  and  silence  descended.  Dullness  en 
sued;  the  flavor  of  the  day  seemed  to  pall; 
the  dancers  scattered  and  were  presently 
following  the  crowd  that  began  to  slowly 
gather  about  the  vacated  stand  of  the 
musicians,  from  which  elevation  the  speakers 
of  the  occasion  were  about  to  address  their 
fellow-citizens.  One  of  the  disaffected  old 
farmers,  gruff  and  averse,  could  not  refrain 
from  administering  a  rebuke  to  Brent  Kayle 
as  crossing  the  expanse  of  saw-dust  on  his 
way  to  join  the  audience  he  encountered  the 

114 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

youth  in  company  with  Valeria  Glee,  his  re 
cent  partner. 

66  Ai-yi,  Brent,"  the  old  man  said,  "  the 
last  time  I  seen  you  uns  I  rememher  well  ez 
ye  war  a-settin'  on  the  mourner's  bench." 
For  there  had  been  a  great  religious  revival 
the  previous  year  and  many  had  been  pricked 
in  conscience.  "  Ye  ain't  so  tuk  up  now  in 
contemplatin'  the  goodness  o'  God  an'  yer 
sins  agin  same,"  he  pursued  caustically. 

Brent  retorted  with  obvious  acrimony. 
"  I  don't  see  no  'casion  ter  doubt  the  good 
ness  o'  God — I  never  war  so  ongrateful 
nohow  as  that  comes  to."  He  resented 
being  thus  publicly  reproached,  as  if  he  were 
individually  responsible  for  the  iniquity  of 
the  bran  dance — the  scape-goat  for  the  sins 
of  all  this  merry  company.  Many  of  the 
whilom  dancers  had  pressed  forward,  crowd 
ing  up  behind  the  old  mountaineer  and 
facing  the  flushed  Brent  and  the  flower- 
like  Valeria,  the  faint  green  leaves  of  her 
muslin  dress  fluttering  about  her  as  her  skirts 
swayed  in  the  wind. 

"  Ye  ain't  so  powerful  afeard  of  the  devil 
now  ez  ye  uster  was  on  the  mourner's 
bench,  "  the  old  man  argued. 

115 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

"  I  never  war  so  mighty  afeard  of  the 
devil,"  the  goaded  Brent  broke  forth  angrily, 
for  the  crowd  was  laughing  in  great  relish 
of  his  predicament — they,  who  had  shared 
all  the  enormity  of  "  shaking  a  foot  "  on  this 
festive  day.  Brent  flinched  from  the  obvious 
injustice  of  their  ridicule.  He  felt  an  eager 
impulse  for  reprisal.  "  I  know  ez  sech 
dancin'  ez  I  hev  done  ain't  no  sin,"  he  blus 
tered.  "  I  ain't  af eared  o'  the  devil  fur  sech 
ez  that.  I  wouldn't  be  skeered  a  mite  ef  he 
war  ter — ter — ter  speak  right  out  now  agin 
it,  an'  I'll  be  bound  ez  all  o'  you  uns  would. 
I — I — look  yander — look!  ' 

He  had  thrown  himself  into  a  posture  of 
amazed  intentness  and  was  pointing  upward 
at  the  overhanging  boughs  of  a  tree  above 
their  heads.  A  squirrel  was  poised  thereon, 
gazing  down  motionless.  Then,  suddenly — a 
frightful  thing  happened.  The  creature 
seemed  to  speak.  A  strange  falsetto  voice, 
such  as  might  befit  so  eerie  a  chance,  sounded 
on  the  air — loud,  distinct,  heard  far  up  the 
slope,  and  electrifying  the  assemblage  near  at 
hand  that  was  gathering  about  the  stand  and 
awaiting  the  political  candidates. 

116 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

"  Quit  yer  foolin' — quit  yer  foolm',"  the 
strange  voice  iterated.  "  I'll  larn  ye  ter  be 
af eared  o'  the  devil.  Long  legs  now  is 
special  grace." 

So  wild  a  cry  broke  from  the  startled 
group  below  the  tree  that  the  squirrel,  with 
a  sudden,  alert,  about-face  movement,  turned 
and  swiftly  ran  along  the  bough  and  up  the 
bole.  It  paused  once  and  looked  back  to 
cry  out  again  in  distinct  iteration,  "  Quit  yer 
foolin'  !  Quit  yer  foolin'  !  " 

But  none  had  stayed  to  listen.  A  general 
frantic  rout  ensued.  The  possibility  of  ven 
triloquism  was  unknown  to  their  limited  ex 
perience.  All  had  heard  the  voice  and  those 
who  had  distinguished  the  words  and  their 
seeming  source  needed  no  argument.  In 
either  case  the  result  was  the  same.  Within 
ten  minutes  the  grounds  of  the  famous  bar 
becue  and  bran  dance  were  deserted.  The 
cumbrous  wagons,  all  too  slow,  were  wend 
ing  with  such  speed  as  their  drivers  could 
coerce  the  ox-teams  to  make  along  the  wood 
land  road  homeward,  while  happier  wights 
on  horseback  galloped  past,  leaving  clouds 
of  dust  in  the  rear  and  a  grewsome  premoni- 

117 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

tion  of  being  hindmost  in  a  flight  that  to  the 
simple  minds  of  the  mountaineers  had'  & 
pursuer  of  direful  reality. 

The  state  of  a  candidate  is  rarely  enviable 
until  the  event  is  cast  and  the  postulant  is 
merged  into  the  elect,  but  on  the  day  signal 
ized  by  the  barbecue,  the  bran  dance,  and  the 
rout  the  unfortunate  aspirants  for  public 
favor  felt  that  they  had  experienced  the  ex 
treme  st  spite  of  fate ;  for  although  they  real 
ized  in  their  superior  education  and  sophis 
tication  that  the  panic-stricken  rural  crowd 
had  been  tricked  by  some  clever  ventrilo 
quist,  the  political  orators  were  left  with 
only  the  winds  and  waters  and  wilderness  on 
which  to  waste  their  eloquence,  and  the  wis 
dom  of  their  exclusive  method  of  saving  the 
country. 

Brent  Kayle's  talent  for  eluding  the  com 
mon  doom  of  man  to  eat  his  bread  in  the  sweat 
of  his  face  was  peculiarly  marked.  He  was 
the  eldest  of  seven  sons,  ranging  in  age  from 
eleven  to  twenty  years,  including  one  pair  of 
twins.  The  parents  had  been  greatly  pitied 
for  the  exorbitant  exactions  of  rearing  this 
large  family  during  its  immaturity,  but  now, 

118 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

the  labor  of  farm,  barnyard  and  woodpile, 
distributed  among  so  many  stalwart  fellows 
of  the  same  home  and  interest  was  light  and 
the  result  ample.  Perhaps  none  of  them 
realized  how  little  of  this  abundance  was 
compassed  by  Brent's  exertions — how  many 
days  he  spent  dawdling  on  the  river  bank 
idly  experimenting  with  the  echoes — how 
often,  even  when  he  affected  to  work,  he  left 
the  plow  in  the  furrow  while  he  followed  till 
sunset  the  flight  of  successive  birds  through 
the  adjacent  pastures,  imitating  as  he  went 
the  fresh  mid-air  cry,  whistling  in  so  vibrant 
a  bird-voice,  so  signally  clear  and  dulcet,  yet 
so  keen  despite  its  sweetness,  that  his 
brothers  at  the  plow-handles  sought  in  vain 
to  distinguish  between  the  calls  of  the  earth- 
ling  and  the  winged  voyager  of  the  empyreal 
air.  None  of  them  had  ever  heard  of  ven 
triloquism,  so  limited  had  been  their  educa 
tion  and  experience,  so  sequestered  was  their 
home  amidst  the  wilderness  of  the  mountains. 
Only  very  gradually  to  Brent  himself  came 
the  consciousness  of  his  unique  gift,  as  from 
imitation  he  progressed  to  causing  a  silent 
bird  to  seem  to  sing.  The  strangeness  of 
the  experience  frightened  him  at  first,  but 

119 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

with  each  experiment  he  had  grown  more 
confident,  more  skilled,  until  at  length  he 
found  that  he  could  throw  a  singularly  articu 
late  voice  into  the  jaws  of  the  old  plow-horse, 
while  his  brothers,  accustomed  to  his  queer 
vocal  tricks,  were  convulsed  with  laughter 
at  the  bizarre  quadrupedal  views  of  life  thus 
elicited.  This  development  of  proficiency, 
however,  was  recent,  and  until  the  incident 
at  the  bran  dance  it  had  not  been  exercised 
beyond  the  limits  of  their  secluded  home. 
It  had  revealed  new  possibilities  to  the  young 
ventriloquist  and  he  looked  at  once  agitated, 
excited,  and  triumphant  when  late  that  after 
noon  he  appeared  suddenly  at  the  rail  fence 
about  the  door-yard  of  Valeria  Glee's  home 
on  one  of  the  spurs  of  Chilhowee  Mountain. 
It  was  no  such  home  as  his — lacking  all 
the  evidence  of  rude  comfort  and  coarse 
plenty  that  reigned  there — and  in  its  tumble 
down  disrepair  it  had  an  aspect  of  dispirited 
helplessness.  Here  Valeria,  an  orphan  from 
her  infancy,  dwelt  with  her  father's  parents, 
who  always  of  small  means  had  become  yearly 
a  more  precarious  support.  The  ancient 
grandmother  was  sunken  in  many  infirmities, 
and  the  household  tasks  had  all  fallen  to  the 
120 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

lot  of  Valeria.  Latterly  a  stroke  of  paralysis 
had  given  old  man  Glee  an  awful  annotation 
on  the  chapter  of  age  and  poverty  upon  which 
he  was  entering,  and  his  little  farm  was  fast 
growing  up  in  brambles. 

"  But  't  ain't  no  differ,  gran'dad,"  Va 
leria  often  sought  to  reassure  him.  "  I'll 
work  some  way  out." 

And  when  he  would  irritably  flout  the 
possibility  that  she  could  do  aught  to  ma 
terially  avert  disaster  she  was  wont  to  pro 
test:  "  You  jes'  watch  me.  I'll  find  out 
some  way.  I  be  ez  knowin'  ez  any  old  owel." 

Despite  her  slender  physique  and  her  re 
current  heavy  tasks  the  drear  doom  of  pov 
erty  with  its  multiform  menace  had  cast  no 
shadow  on  her  ethereal  face,  and  her  pensive 
dark  gray  eyes  were  full  of  serene  light  as 
she  met  the  visitor  at  the  bars.  A  glimmer  of 
mirth  began  to  scintillate  beneath  her  long 
brown  lashes,  and  she  spoke  first.  "  The 
folks  in  the  mountings  air  mighty  nigh 
skeered  out'n  thar  boots  by  yer  foolishness, 
Brent  " — she  sought  to  conserve  a  mien  of 
reproof.  ' (  They  'low  ez  it  war  a  manifesta 
tion  of  the  Evil  One." 

Brent  laughed  delightedly.  "  Warn't 
121 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

it  prime?  "  lie  said.  "  But  I  never  expected 
ter  work  secli  a  scatteration  of  the  crowd. 
Thar  skeer  plumb  tarrified  me.  I  jes'  set 
out  with  the  nimblest,  an'  run  from  "the  devil 
myself." 

"  Won't  them  candidates  fur  office  be 
mighty  mad  if  they  find  out  what  it  war  sure 
enough!  "  she  queried  anxiously.  "  They 
gin  the  crowd  a  barbecue  an'  bran  dance,  an' 
arter  all,  the  folks  got  quit  of  hevin'  ter  hear 
them  speak  an'  jaw  about  thar  old  politics 
an'  sech." 

"  Them  candidates  air  hoppin'  mad  fur 
true,"  he  admitted.  "  I  been  down  yander 
at  Gilfillan's  store  in  the  Cove  an'  I  hearn 
the  loafers  thar  talkin'  powerful  'bout  the 
strange  happening.  An'  them  candidates 
war  thar  gittin'  ready  ter  start  out  fur  town 
in  thar  buggy.  An'  that  thar  gay  one — 
though  now  he  seems  ez  sober  ez  that  sour 
one — he  said  't  warn't  no  devil.  'Twar  jes' 
a  ventriloquisk  from  somewhar — that's  jes' 
what  that  town  man  called  it.  But  I  never 
said  nuthin'.  I  kep'  powerful  quiet." 

Brent  Kayle  was  as  vain  a  man  as  ever 
stood  in  shoe  leather — even  in  the  midst  of 
his  absorption  in  his  disclosure  he  could  not 
122 


[UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

refrain  from  a  pause  to  reflect  on  the  signal 
success  of  his  prank  and  laugh  and  plume 
himself. 

"  But  old  Gilfillan  he  loves  ter  believe  ez 
the  devil  air  hotfoot  arter  other  folks  with  a 
pitchfork,  an'  he  axed  how  then  did  sech  a 
man  happen  ter  be  in  the  mountings  'thout 
none  knowin'  of  it.  An'  that  candidate,  the 
gay  one,  he  say  he  reckon  the  feller  kem 
from  that  circus  what  is  goin'  ter  show  in 
Shaftesville  termorrer — mebbe  he  hearn 
'bout  the  bran  dance  an'  wanted  ter  hev  some 
fun  out'n  the  country  folks.  That  candidate 
say  he  hed  hearn  dozens  o'  ventriloquisks  in 
shows  in  the  big  towns — though  this  war 
about  the  bes'  one  he  could  remember.  He 
said  he  hed  no  doubt  this  feller  is  paid  good 
money  in  the  show,  fur  jes'  sech  fool  tricks 
with  his  voice — good  money!  " 

Valeria  had  listened  in  motionless  amaze 
ment.  But  he  had  now  paused,  almost  chok 
ing  with  his  rush  of  emotion,  his  excitement, 
his  sense  of  triumph,  and  straight  ensued  a 
certain  reluctance,  a  dull  negation,  a  pro 
phetic  recoil  from  responsibility  that  clogged 
his  resolve.  His  eyes  roved  uncertainly 
about  the  familiar  domestic  scene,  darkening 

123 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

mow,  duskily  purple  beneath,  the  luminous 
pearly  and  roseate  tints  of  the  twilight  sky. 
The  old  woman  was  a-drowse  on  the  porch  of 
the  rickety  little  log-cabin  beneath  the  gourd 
vines,  the  paralytic  grandfather  came  hirpling 
unsteadily  through  the  doorway  on  his  sup 
porting  crutch,his  pipe  shaking  in  his  shaking 
hand,  while  he  muttered  and  mumbled  to  him 
self — who  knows  what? — whether  of  terror  of 
the  future,  or  regret  for  the  past,  or  doubt  and 
despair  of  to-day.  The  place  was  obviously 
so  meagre,  so  poverty-bitten,  so  eloquent  of 
the  hard  struggle  for  mere  existence.  If  it 
had  been  necessary  for  Brent  Kayle  to  put 
his  hand  to  the  plow  in  its  behalf  the  words 
would  never  have  been  spoken — but  "good 
money "  for  this  idle  trade,  these  facile 
pranks ! 

"  Vallie,"  he  said  impulsively,  "I'm 
going  ter  try  it — ef  ye '11  go  with  me.  Ef  ye 
war  along  I'd  feel  heartened  ter  stand  up  an' 
face  the  crowd  in  a  strange  place.  I  always 
loved  ye  better  than  any  of  the  other  gals — 
shucks! — whenst  ye  war  about  I  never 
knowed  ez  they  war  alive. ' ' 

Perhaps  it  was  the  after-glow  of  the  sun 
set  in  the  sky,  but  a  crimson  flush  sprang  into 

124 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

her  delicate  cheek;  her  eyes  were  evasive, 
quickly  glancing  here  and  there  with  an 
affectation  of  indifference,  and  she  had  no 
mind  to  talk  of  love,  she  declared. 

But  she  should  think  of  her  gran 'dad  and 
gran 'mam,  he  persisted.  How  had  she  the 
heart  to  deprive  them  of  his  willing  aid?  He 
declared  he  had  intended  to  ask  her  to  marry 
him  anyhow,  for  she  had  always  seemed  to 
like  him — she  could  not  deny  this — but  now 
was  the  auspicious  time — to-morrow —  while 
the  circus  was  in  Shaftesville,  and  "  good 
money  "  was  to  be  had  to  provide  for  the 
wants  of  her  old  grandparents. 

Though  Valeria  had  flouted  the  talk  of 
love  she  seemed  his  partisan  when  she  con 
fided  the  matter  to  the  two  old  people  and 
their  consent  was  accorded  rather  for  her 
sake  than  their  own.  They  felt  a  revivifying 
impetus  in  the  thought  that  after  their  death 
Valeria  would  have  a  good  husband  to  care 
for  her,  for  to  them  the  chief  grief  of  their 
loosening  hold  on  life  was  her  inheritance  of 
their  helplessness  and  poverty. 

The  courthouse  in  Shaftesville  seemed  a 
very  imposing  edifice  to  people  unaccustomed 
to  the  giddy  heights  of  a  second  story. 

125 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

When  the  two  staring  young  rustics  left  the 
desk  of  the  county  court  clerk  and  repaired 
to  the  dwelling  of  the  minister  of  the  Meth 
odist  Church  near  by,  with  the  marriage 
license  just  procured  safely  stowed  away  in 
Brent's  capacious  hat,  their  anxieties  were 
roused  for  a  moment  lest  some  delay  ensue, 
as  they  discovered  that  the  minister  was  on 
the  point  of  sitting  down  to  his  dinner.  He 
courteously  deferred  the  meal,  however,  and 
as  the  bride  apologetically  remarked  after  the 
ceremony  that  they  might  have  awaited  his 
convenience  were  it  not  for  the  circus,  he 
imagined  that  the  youthful  couple  had  de 
signed  to  utilize  a  round  of  the  menagerie 
as  a  wedding  tour.  The  same  thought  was 
in  the  minds  of  the  metropolitan  managers  of 
the  organization  when  presently  the  two 
young  wildings  from  the  mountain  fastness 
were  ushered  into  their  presence,  having 
secured  an  audience  by  dint  of  extreme  per 
sistence,  aided  by  a  mien  of  mysterious  im 
portance. 

They  found  two  men  standing  just  within 
the  great  empty  tent,  for  the  crowd  had  not 
as  yet  begun  to  gather.  The  most  authorita 
tive,  who  was  tall  and  portly,  had  the  manner 

126 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

of  swiftly  disposing  of  the  incident  by  asking 
in  a  peremptory  voice  what  he  could  do  for 
them.  The  other,  lean  and  languid,  looked 
up  from  a  newspaper,  in  which  he  had  been 
scanning  a  flaming  circus  advertisement,  as 
he  stood  smoking  a  cigar.  He  said  nothing, 
but  concentrated  an  intent  speculative  gaze 
on  the  face  of  Valeria,  who  had  pulled  off  her 
faint  green  sunbonnet  and  in  a  flush  of  eager 
hopefulness  fanned  with  the  slats. 

"  Ventriloquist  ? "  the  portly  man  repeated 
with  a  note  of  surprise,  as  Brent  made  known 
his  gifts  and  his  desire  for  an  engagement. 
"Oh,  well — ventriloquism  is  a  chestnut." 

Then  with  a  qualm  of  pity,  perhaps,  for 
the  blank  despair  that  settled  down  on  the 
two  young  faces  he  explained:  "Nothing 
goes  in  the  circus  business  but  novelty.  The 
public  is  tired  out  with  ventriloquism.  No 
mystery  about  it  now — kind  of  thing,  too,  that 
a  clever  amateur  can  compass." 

Brent,  hurled  from  the  giddy  heights  of 
imminent  achievement  to  the  depths  of 
nullity,  could  not  at  once  relinquish  the  glow 
ing  prospects  that  had  allured  him.  He 
offered  to  give  a  sample  of  his  powers.  He 
would  like  to  bark  a  few,  h©  said;  you 

127 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

couldn't  tell  him  from  a  sure  enough  dog;  lie 
could  imitate  the  different  breeds — hound- 
dog,  bull-pup,  terrier — but  the  manager  was 
definitely  shaking  his  head. 

Suddenly  his  partner  spoke.  "The  girl 
might  take  a  turn!" 

"In  the  show?"  the  portly  man  said  in 
surprise. 

"The  Company's  Una  weighs  two  hun 
dred  pounds  and  has  a  face  as  broad  as  a 
barn-door.  She  shows  she  is  afraid  of  the 
lion  when  she  stands  beside  him  in  the  street 
parade,  and — curse  him —  he  is  so  clever  that 
he  knows  it,  no  matter  how  he  is  doped.  It 
incites  him  to  growl  at  her  all  through  the 
pageant,  and  that  simply  queers  the  sweet 
peace  of  the  idea." 

"And  you  think  this  untrained  girl  could 
take  her  place  1 ' ' 

"Why  not?  She  couldn't  do  worse — and 
she  could  look  the  part.  See,"  he  continued, 
in  as  business-like  way  as  if  Valeria  were 
merely  a  bale  of  goods  or  deaf,  "ethereal 
figure,  poetic  type  of  beauty,  fine  expression 
of  candor  and  serene  courage.  She  has  a 
look  of  open-eyed  innocence — I  don't  mean 
ignorance."  He  made  a  subtle  distinction  in 

128 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

the  untutored  aspect  of  the  two  countenances 
before  Mm. 

' '  Would  you  be  afraid  of  the  lion,  child?" 
the  stout  man  asked  Valeria.  ' i  He  is  chained 
— and  drugged,  too — in  the  pageant.'7 

It  was  difficult  for  the  astonished  Valeria 
to  find  her  voice.  "A  lion?"  she  murmured. 
* '  I  never  seen  a  lion. ' ' 

"No?  Honest?"  they  both  cried  in  amaze 
ment  that  such  a  thing  could  be.  The  portly 
man's  rollicking  laughter  rang  out  through 
the  thin  walls  of  canvas  to  such  effect  that 
some  savage  caged  beast  within  reach  of  the 
elastic  buoyant  sound  was  roused  to  anger 
and  supplemented  it  with  a,  rancorous  snarl. 

Valeria  listened  apprehensively,  with 
dilated  eyes.  She  thought  of  the  lion,  the 
ferocious  creature  that  she  had  never  seen. 
She  thought  of  the  massive  strong  woman 
who  knew  and  feared  him.  Then  she  re 
membered  the  desolate  old  grandparents  and 
their  hopeless,  helpless  poverty.  "I'll  resk 
the  lion,"  she  said  with  a  tremulous  bated 
voice. 

"That's  a  brave  girl,"  cried  the  manager. 

"I  hev  read  'bout  Daniel's  lions  an'  him 
in  the  den, ' '  she  explained.  ' '  An '  Daniel  hed 

9  129 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

consid'ble  trust  an'  warn't  afeard — an' 
mebbe  I  won't  be  afeard  nuther." 

"Daniel's  Lions!  Daniel's  Lions!"  the 
portly  manager  repeated  attentively.  "I 
don't  know  the  show — perhaps  in  some  com 
bination  now."  For  if  he  had  ever  heard  of 
that  signal  leonine  incident  recorded  in  Scrip 
ture  he  had  forgotten  it.  "Yes,  yes,"  as  Va 
leria  eagerly  appealed  to  him  in  behalf  of 
Brent,  "we  must  try  to  give  Hubby  some  little 
stunt  to  do  in  the  performance — but  you  are 
the  ticket — a  sure  winner." 

Of  course  the  public  knew,  if  it  chose  to 
reflect,  that  though  apparently  free  the  lion 
was  muzzled  with  a  strong  steel  ring,  and 
every  ponderous  paw  was  chained  down 
securely  to  the  exhibition  car;  it  may  even 
have  suspected  that  the  savage  proclivities  of 
the  great  beast  were  dulled  by  drugs.  But 
there  is  always  the  imminent  chance  of  some 
failure  of  precaution,  and  the  multitude  must 
needs  thrill  to  the  spectacle  of  intrepidity  and 
danger.  Naught  could  exceed  the  enthusi 
asm  that  greeted  this  slim,  graceful  Una  a 
few  days  later  in  the  streets  of  a  distant  city, 
as  clad  in  long  draperies  of  fleecy  white  she 
reclined  against  a  splendid  leonine  specimen, 

130 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

her  sliming  golden  hair  hanging  on  her 
shoulders,  or  mingling  with  his  tawny  mane 
as  now  and  again  she  let  her  soft  cheek  rest 
on  his  head,  her  luminous  dark  gray  eyes 
smiling  down  at  the  cheering  crowds.  This 
speedily  became  the  favorite  feature  of  the 
pageant,  and  the  billboards  flamed  with  her 
portrait,  leaning  against  the  lion,  hundreds 
of  miles  in  advance  of  her  triumphal  prog 
ress. 

All  this  unexpected  success  presently 
awoke  Brent's  emulation — so  far  he  had  not 
even  i  *  barked  a  few. ' '  A  liberal  advance  on 
his  wife's  salary  had  quieted  him  for  a  time, 
but  when  the  wonders  of  this  new  life  began 
to  grow  stale — the  steam-cars,  the  great  cities, 
the  vast  country  the  Company  traversed — 
he  became  importunate  for  the  opportunity 
of  display.  He  "barked  a  few"  so  cleverly 
at  a  concert  after  the  performance  one  even 
ing  that  the  manager  gave  him  a  chance  to 
throw  the  very  considerable  volume  of  sound 
he  could  command  into  the  jaws  of  one  of  the 
lions.  "Let  Emperor  speak  to  the  people," 
he  said.  Forthwith  he  wrote  a  bit  of  rod 
omontade  which  he  bade  Brent  memorize 
and  had  the  satisfaction  soon  to  hear  from 

131 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

the  lion-trainer,  to  whom  was  intrusted  all 
that  pertained  to  the  exhibition  of  these  kings 
of  beasts,  that  the  rehearsal  was  altogether 
satisfactory. 

An  immense  audience  was  assembled  in 
the  great  tent.  The  soaring  dome  of  white 
canvas  reflected  the  electric  light  with  a 
moony  lustre.  The  display  of  the  three  rings 
was  in  full  swing.  That  magic  atmosphere 
of  the  circus,  the  sense  of  simple  festivity,, 
the  crises  of  thrilling  expectancy,  the  reve 
lation  of  successive  wonders,  the  diffusive 
delight  of  a  multitude  not  difficult  to  entertain 
— all  were  in  evidence.  Suddenly  a  pon 
derous  cage  was  rolled  in ;  the  band  was  play 
ing  liltingly;  the  largest  of  the  lions  within 
the  bars,  a  tawny  monster,  roused  up  and 
with  head  depressed  and  switching  tail  paced 
back  and  forth  within  the  restricted  limits  of 
the  cage,  while  the  others  looked  out  with 
motionless  curiosity  at  the  tiers  of  people. 
Presently  with  a  long  supple  stride  the 
gigantic,  blond  Norwegian  trainer  came 
lightly  across  the  arena — a  Hercules,  with 
broad  bare  chest  and  arms,  arrayed  in 
spangled  blue  satin  and  white  tights  that 
forbade  all  suspicion  of  protective  armor.  At 

132 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

a  single  bound  he  sprang  into  the  cage,  while 
Brent,  garbed  in  carnation  and  white,  stood 
unheralded  and  unremarked  close  by  outside 
among  the  armed  attendants.  There  seemed 
no  need  of  precaution,  however,  so  lightly  the 
trainer  frolicked  with  the  savage  creatures. 
He  performed  wonderful  acrobatic  feats  with 
them  in  which  one  hardly  knew  which  most 
to  admire,  the  agility  and  intrepidity  of  the 
man  or  the  supple  strength  and  curious  intel 
ligence  of  the  beasts.  He  wrestled  with 
them;  he  leaped  and  rolled  among  them;  he 
put  his  head  into  their  terrible  full-fanged 
jaws — but  before  springing  forth  he  fired  his 
pistols  loaded  with  blank  cartridges  full  in 
their  faces ;  for  the  instant  the  coercion  of  his 
eye  was  pretermitted  every  one  treacherously 
bounded  toward  him,  seeking  to  seize  him  be 
fore  he  could  reach  the  door.  Then  Emperor, 
as  was  his  wont,  flung  himself  in  baffled  fury 
against  the  bars  and  stood  erect  and  shook 
them  in  his  wrath. 

All  at  once,  to  the  astonishment  of  the 
people,  he  spoke,  voicing  a  plaintive  pan 
egyric  on  liberty  and  protesting  his  willing 
ness  to  barter  all  the  luxury  of  his  captivity 
for  one  free  hour  on  the  desert  sands. 

133 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

Surprise,  absolute,  unqualified,  reigned 
for  one  moment.  But  a  circus-going  crowd 
is  uncannily  quick.  The  audience  perceived 
a  certain  involuntary  element  of  the  enter 
tainment.  A  storm  of  cat-calls  ensued, 
hisses,  roars  of  laughter.  For  the  place  was 
the  city  of  Glaston,  the  Company  being  once 
more  in  East  Tennessee,  and  the  lion  spoke 
the  old  familiar  mountain  dialect  so  easily 
recognizable  in  this  locality.  Even  a  lapsus 
linguae,  "you  uns,"  was  unmistakable  amidst 
the  high-flown  periods.  Although  the  ven 
triloquism  was  appreciated,  the  incongruity 
of  this  countrified  jargon,  held  in  great  con 
tempt  by  the  townfolks,  discounted  Em 
peror's  majesty  and  he  was  in  ludicrous 
eclipse. 

Behind  the  screening  canvas  the  portly 
manager  raged;  "  How  dare  you  make  that 
fine  lion  talk  like  a  ' hill-Billy' such  as  yourself 
— as  if  he  were  fresh  caught  in  the  Great 
Smoky  Mountains ! ' '  he  stormed  at  the  indig 
nant  ventriloquist.  The  other  partners  in  the 
management  interfered  in  Brent's  behalf; 
they  feared  that  the  proud  mountaineer,  re 
senting  the  contemptuous  designation  "  hill- 
Billy"  might  withdraw  from  £he  Company, 

134 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

taking  his  wife  with  him,  and  the  loss  of  Va 
leria  from  the  pageant  would  be  well  nigh 
irreparable,  for  her  ethereal  and  fragile 
beauty  as  Una  with  her  lion  had  a  perennial 
charm  for  the  public.  The  management 
therefore  assumed  the  responsibility  for  the 
linguistic  disaster,  having  confided  the  re 
hearsal  to  a  foreigner,  for  the  Norwegian 
lion-trainer  naively  explained  that  to  him  it 
seemed  that  all  Americans  talked  alike. 

A  course  in  elocution  was  recommended 
to  Brent  by  the  managers,  and  he  fell  in  with 
this  plan  delightedly,  but  after  two  or  three 
elementary  bouts  with  the  vowel  sounds,  long 
and  short,  consonants,  sonant  and  surd,  he 
concluded  that  mere  articulation  could  be 
made  as  laborious  as  sawing  wood,  and  he 
discovered  that  it  was  incompatible  with  his 
dignity  to  be  a  pupil  in  an  art  in  which  he  had 
professed  proficiency.  Thereafter  his  accom 
plishment  rusted — to  the  relief  of  the  man 
agement — although  he  required  that  Valeria 
should  be  described  in  the  advertisements  as 
the  wife  of  "the  celebrated  ventriloquist,  Mr. 
Brent  Kayle,"  thus  seeking  by  faked 
notoriety  to  secure  the  sweets  of  fame,  with 
out  the  labor  of  achievement. 

135 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

Valeria  had  welcomed  the  pacific  settle 
ment  of  the  difficulty,  because  her  "good 
money"  earned  in  the  show  so  brightened  and 
beautified  the  evening  of  life  for  the  ven 
erable  grandparents  at  home.  For  their  sake 
she  had  conquered  her  dread  of  the  lion  in 
the  pageant.  Indeed  she  had  found  other 
lions  in  her  path  that  she  feared  more — 
the  glitter  and  gauds  of  her  tinsel  world, 
the  enervating  love  of  ease,  the  influence  of 
sordid  surroundings  and  ignoble  ideals.  But 
not  one  could  withstand  the  simple  goodness 
of  the  unsophisticated  girl.  They  retreated 
before  the  power  of  her  fireside  traditions  of 
right  thinking  and  true  living  which  she  had 
learned  in  her  humble  mountain  home. 

It  had  come  to  be  a  dwelling  of  comfort 
able  aspect,  cared  for  in  the  absence  of  the 
young  couple  by  a  thrifty  hired  housekeeper, 
a  widowed  cousin,  and  here  they  spent  the  off 
seasons  when  the  circus  company  went  into 
winter  quarters.  Eepairs  had  been  insti 
tuted,  several  rooms  were  added,  and  a 
wide  veranda  replaced  the  rickety  little 
porch  and  gave  upon  a  noble  prospect  of 
mountain  and  valley  and  river.  Here  on 
sunshiny  noons  in  the  good  Saint  Martin's 

136 


UNA  OF  THE  HILL  COUNTRY 

summer  the  old  gran 'dad  loved  to  sit,  blithe 
and  hearty,  chirping  away  the  soft  unseason 
able  December  days.  Sometimes  in  the  plen 
itude  of  content  he  would  give  Valeria  a 
meaning  glance  and  mutter  "Oh,  leetle  Owel! 
Oh,  leetle  Owel!"  and  then  break  into 
laughter  that  must  needs  pause  to  let  him 
wipe  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  Vallie  'pears  ter  hev  right  good 
sense  an'  makes  out  toler'ble  well,  con- 
siderin',"  her  husband  would  affably  re 
mark,  "though  of  course  it  war  me  ez  inter- 
duced  her  ter  the  managers,  an'  she  gits  her 
main  chance  in  the  show  through  my  bein' 
a  celebrated  ventriloquisk. " 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

Night  came  early.  It  might  well  seem 
that  day  had  fled  affrighted.  The  heavy 
masses  of  clouds,  glooming  low,  which  had 
gathered  thicker  and  thicker,  as  if  crowding 
to  witness  the  catastrophe,  had  finally  shaken 
asunder  in  the  concussions  of  the  air  at  the 
discharges  of  artillery,  and  now  the  direful 
rain,  always  sequence  of  the  shock  of  battle, 
was  steadily  falling,  falling,  on  the  stricken 
field.  Many  a  soldier  who  might  have  sur 
vived  his  wounds  would  succumb  to  exposure 
to  the  elements  during  the  night,  debarred 
the  tardy  succor  that  must  needs  await  his 
turn.  One  of  the  surgeons  at  their  hasty 
work  at  the  field  hospital,  under  the  shelter 
of  the  cliffs  on  the  slope,  paused  to  note  the 
presage  of  doom  and  death,  and  to  draw  a 
long  breath  before  he  adjusted  himself  anew 
to  the  grim  duties  of  the  scalpel  in  his  hand. 
His  face  was  set  and  haggard,  less  with  a 
realization  of  the  significance  of  the  scene — 
for  he  was  used  to  its  recurrence — than 
simply  with  a  physical  reflection  of  horror, 
as  if  it  were  glassed  in  a  mirror.  A  phe 
nomenon  that  had  earlier  caught  his  attention 

138 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

in  the  landscape  appealed  again  to  his  notice, 
perhaps  because  the  symptom  was  not  in  his 
line. 

1 ' Looks  like  a  case  of  dementia,"  he  ob 
served  to  the  senior  surgeon,  standing  near 
at  hand. 

The  superior  officer  adjusted  his  field- 
glass.  "  Looks  like  '  Death  on  the  White 
Horse M"  he  responded. 

Down  the  highway,  at  a  slow  pace,  rode 
a  cavalryman  wearing  a  gray  uniform,  with 
a  sergeant's  chevrons,  and  mounted  on  a 
steed  good  in  his  day,  but  whose  day  was 
gone.  A  great  clot  of  blood  had  gathered 
on  his  broad  white  chest,  where  a  bayonet 
had  thrust  him  deep.  Despite  his  exhaustion, 
he  moved  forward  at  the  urgency  of  his 
rider's  heel  and  hand.  The  soldier  held  a 
long,  heavy  staff  planted  on  one  stirrup, 
from  the  top  of  which  drooped  in  the  dull 
air  the  once  gay  guidon,  battle-rent  and  sod 
den  with  rain,  and  as  he  went  he  shouted  at 
intervals,  "Dovinger's  Eangers !  Bally  on  the 
guidon!"  Now  and  again  his  strident  boyish 
voice  varied  the  appeal,  "Hyar's  yer  Dov- 
inger's  Eangers!  Bally,  boys!  Bally  on  the 
reserve!" 

139 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

Indeed,  despite  his  stalwart,  tall,  broad- 
shouldered  frame,  he  was  scarcely  more  than 
a  boy.  His  bare  head  had  flaxen  curls  like 
a  child's;  his  pallid,  though  sunburned  face 
was  broad  and  soft  and  beardless;  his  large 
blue  eyes  were  languid  and  spiritless,  though 
now  and  then  as  he  turned  an  intent  gaze  over 
the  field  they  flared  anew  with  hope,  as  if  he 
expected  to  see  rise  up  from  that  desolate  ex 
panse,  from  among  the  stiffening  carcasses 
of  horses  and  the  stark  corpses  of  the 
troopers,  that  gallant  squadron  wont  to  fol 
low,  so  dashing  and  debonair,  wherever  the 
guidons  might  mark  the  way.  But  there  was 
naught  astir  save  the  darkness  slipping  down 
by  slow  degrees — and  perchance  under  its 
cloak,  already  stealthily  afoot,  the  ghoulish 
robbers  of  the  dead  that  haunt  the  track  of 
battle.  They  were  the  human  forerunners 
of  the  vulture  breed,  with  even  a  keener 
scent  for  prey,  for  as  yet  the  feathered  car 
rion-seekers  held  aloof;  two  or  three  only 
were  descried  from  the  field  hospital, 
perched  on  the  boughs  of  a  dead  tree  near  the 
river,  presently  joined  by  another,  its  splen 
did  sustained  flight  impeded  somewhat  by  the 
rain,  battling  with  its  big,  strong  wings 

140 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

against  the  downpour  of  the  torrents  and  the 
heavy  air. 

And  still  through  all  echoed  the  cry, 
"Rally  on  the  guidon!  Dovinger's  Bangers! 
Rally  on  the  reserve!" 

The  bridge  that  crossed  the  river,  which 
was  running  full  and  foaming,  had  been 
burnt;  but  a  span,  charred  and  broken,  still 
swung  from  the  central  pier.  Over  toward 
the  dun-tinted  west  a  house  was  blazing,  fired 
by  some  stray  bomb,  perhaps,  or  by  official 
design,  to  hinder  the  enemy  from  utilizing 
the  shelter,  and  its  red  rage  of  destruction 
bepainted  the  clouds  that  hung  so  low  above 
the  chimneys  and  dormer-windows.  To  the 
east,  the  woods  on  the  steeps  had  been  shelled, 
and  a  myriad  boughs  and  boles  riven  and 
rent,  lay  in  fantastic  confusion.  Through  the 
mournful  chaos  the  wind  had  begun  to  sweep ; 
it  sounded  in  unison  with  the  battle  clamors, 
and  shrieked  and  wailed  and  roared  as  it 
surged  adown  tjhe  defiles.  Now  and  then 
there  came  on  the  blast  the  fusillade  of  drop 
ping  shots  from  the  south,  where  the  skirmish 
line  of  one  faction  engaged  the  rear-guard  of 
the  other,  or  the  pickets  fell  within  rifle-range. 
Once  the  sullen,  melancholy  boom  of  distant 

141 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

cannon  shook  the  clouds,  and  then  was  still, 
and  ever  and  again  sounded  that  tireless  cry, 
"Dovinger's  Bangers.  Hyar's  yer  guidon! 
Bally,  boys!  Bally  on  the  guidon!  Bally  on 
the  reserve!" 

The  senior  surgeon,  as  the  road  wound 
near,  stepped  down  toward  it  when  the  horse 
man,  still  holding  himself  proudly  erect, 
passed  by.  "  Sergeant,"  he  hailed  the 
guidon,  " where  is  Captain  Dovinger?" 

The  hand  mechanically  went  to  the  boy's 
forehead  in  the  usual  military  salute. 
"Killed,  sir." 

"  Where  are  the  other  officers  of  the  squad 
ron — the  junior  captain,  the  lieutenants?" 

"Killed,  sir." 

"What  has  become  of  the  troopers?" 

"Killed,  sir,  in  the  last  charge." 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  Dr.  Trent 
broke  forth :  l '  Are  you  a  fool,  boy  ?  If  your 
command  is  annihilated,  why  do  you  keep  up 
this  commotion?" 

The  young  fellow  looked  blank  for  a 
moment.  Then,  as  if  he  had  not  reasoned 
on  the  catastrophe:  "I  thought  at  first  they 
mought  be  scattered — some  of  'em.  But  ef — 
ef — they  war  dead,  but  could  once  see  the 

142 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

guidon,  sure  't  would  call  'em  to  life.  They 
couldn't  be  so  dead  but  they  would  rally  to 
the  guidon!  Guide  right!"  he  shouted  sud 
denly.  "Dovinger's  Eangers!  Eally  on  the 
guidon,  boys !  Eally  on  the  reserve ! ' ' 

It  was  a  time  that  hardened  men's  hearts. 
The  young  soldier  had  no  physical  hurt  that 
might  appeal  to  the  professional  sympathies 
of  the  senior  surgeon,  and  he  turned  away 
with  a  half  laugh.  "Let  him  go  along!  He 
can't  rally  Dovinger's  Eangers  this  side  of 
the  river  Styx,  it  seems. ' ' 

But  an  old  chaplain  who  had  been  hover 
ing  about  the  field  hospital,  whispering  a 
word  here  and  there  to  stimulate  tlie  fortitude 
of  the  wounded  and  solace  the  fears  of  the 
dying,  recognized  moral  symptoms  alien  to 
any  diagnosis  of  which  the  senior  surgeon 
was  capable.  The  latter  did  not  deplore  the 
diversion  of  interest,  for  the  old  man's  pres 
ence  was  not  highly  esteemed  by  the  hospital 
corps  at  this  scene  of  hasty  and  terrible  work, 
although,  having  taken  a  course  in  medicine 
in  early  life,  he  was  permitted  to  aid  in  cer 
tain  ways.  But  the  surgeons  were  wont  to 
declare  that  the  men  began  to  bleat  at  the 
very  sight  of  the  chaplain.  So  gentle,  so 

143 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

sympathetic,  so  paternal,  was  he  that  they 
made  the  more  of  their  wretched  woes,  see 
ing  them  so  deeply  deplored.  The  senior  sur 
geon,  moreover,  was  not  an  ardent  religionist. 
' l  This  is  no  time  for  a  revival,  Mr.  Whitmel, ' ' 
he  would  insist.  "Jack,  there,  never  spoke 
the  name  of  God  in  his  life,  except  to  swear 
by  it.  He  is  too  late  for  prayers,  and  if  I 
can't  pull  him  through,  he  is  a  goner!" 
But  the  chaplain  was  fond  of  quoting: 

"Between  the  stirrup  and  the  ground 
He  mercy  sought  and  mercy  found " 

and  sometimes  the  scene  was  irreverently 
called  a  "love  feast"  when  some  hard-riding, 
hard-swearing,  hard-fighting,  unthinking  sin 
ner  went  joyfully  out  of  this  world  from  the 
fatherly  arms  of  the  chaplain  into  the 
paternal  embrace  of  an  eternal  and  merciful 
Father,  as  the  man  of  God  firmly  believed. 

He  stood  now,  staring  after  the  guidon 
borne  through  the  rain  and  the  mist,  flaunt 
ing  red  as  the  last  leaves  of  autumn  against 
the  dun-tinted  dusk,  that  the  dead  might  view 
the  gallant  and  honored  pennant  and  rise 
again  to  its  leading! 

144 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

No  one  followed  but  the  tall,  thin  figure 
of  the  gaunt  old  chaplain,  unless  indeed  the 
trooping  shadows  that  kept  him  company  had 
mysteriously  roused  at  the  stirring  sum 
mons.  Lanterns  were  now  visible,  dimly 
flickering  in  one  quarter  where  the  fighting 
had  been  furious  and  the  slain  lay  six  deep 
on  the  ground.  Their  aspirations,  their 
valor,  their  patriotism,  had  all  exhaled — 
volatile  essences,  these  incomparable  values! 
• — and  now  their  bodies,  weighted  with  death, 
cumbered  the  earth.  They  must  be  hurried 
out  of  sight,  out  of  remembrance  soon,  and 
the  burial  parties  were  urged  to  diligence  at 
the  trenches  where  these  cast-off  semblances 
were  to  lie  undistinguished  together.  And 
still  the  reflection  of  the  burning  house  red 
dened  the  gloomy  west,  and  still  the  cry, 
' '  Bally  on  the  guidon !  Dovinger  's  Eanger s ! ' ' 
smote  the  thick  air. 

Suddenly  it  was  silent.  The  white  horse 
that  had  been  visible  in  Ihe  flare  from  the 
flaming  house,  now  and  again  flung  athwart 
the  landscape,  no  longer  loomed  in  the  vista 
of  the  shadowy  road.  He  had  given  way  at 
last,  sinking  down  with  that  martial  figure 
still  in  the  saddle,  and,  with  no  struggle  save 

10  145 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

a  mere  galvanic  shiver,  passing  away  from 
the  scene  of  his  faithful  devoirs. 

Fatigue,  agitation,  anguish,  his  agonized 
obsession  of  the  possibility  of  rallying  the 
squadron,  had  served  to  prostrate  the 
soldier's  physical  powers  of  resistance.  He 
could  not  constrain  his  muscles  to  rise  from 
the  recumbent  position  against  the  carcass. 
He  started  up,  then  sank  back,  and  in  another 
moment  triumphant  nature  conquered,  and 
he  was  asleep — a  dull,  dreamless  sleep  of 
absolute  exhaustion,  that  perchance  rescued 
his  reason  as  well  as  saved  his  life. 

The  old  chaplain  was  a  man  of  infinite 
prejudice,  steeped  in  all  the  infirmities  and 
fantasies  of  dogma ;  a  lover  of  harmony,  and 
essentially  an  apostle  of  peace.  Neverthe 
less,  it  would  not  have  been  physically  safe 
to  call  him  a  Jesuit.  But  indeed  he  scarcely 
hesitated;  he  stepped  over  the  great  inert 
bulk  of  the  dead  horse,  unclenched  the  mus 
cular  grasp  of  the  soldier,  as  if  it  had  been 
a  baby's  clasp,  slipped  the  staff,  technically 
the  lance,  of  the  guidon  from  its  socket,  and 
stood  with  it  in  his  own  hand,  looking  sus 
piciously  to  and  fro  to  descry  if  perchance  he 
were  observed.  The  coast  clear,  he  turned 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

to  the  wall  of  rock  beside  the  road,  for  this 
was  near  the  mountain  sandstone  forma 
tion,  fissured,  splintered,  with  the  erosions 
of  water  and  weather;  and  into  one  of  the 
cellular,  tunnel-like  apertures  he  ran  the 
guidon,  lance  and  all, — lost  forever  from 
human  sight. 

In  those  days  one  might  speak  indeed  of 
the  march  of  events.  Each  seemed  hard  on 
the  heels  of  its  precursor.  Change  ran  riot 
in  the  ordering  of  the  world,  and  its  aspect 
was  utterly  transformed  when  Casper  Girard, 
no  longer  bearing  the  guidon  of  Dovinger's 
Bangers,  came  out  of  the  war  with  a  captain's 
shoulder-straps,  won  by  personal  fitness  often 
proved,  the  habit  of  command,  and  a  great 
and  growing  opinion  of  himself.  He  was  a 
changeling,  so  to  speak.  No  longer  he  felt  a 
native  of  the  mountain  cove  where  he  had 
been  born  and  reared.  He  had  had  a  glimpse 
of  the  world  from  a  different  standpoint, 
and  it  lured  him.  A  dreary,  disaffected  life 
he  led  for  a  time. 

"  'Minds  me  of  a  wild  tur-r-key  in  a 
trap,"  his  mother  was  wont  to  comment. 
"Always  stretchin'  his  neck  an'  lookin'  up 
an'  away — when  he  mought  git  out  by  lookin' 

147 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

down."  And  the  simile  was  so  apt  that  it 
stayed  in  his  mind — looking  up  and  away ! 

Of  all  dull  inventions,  in  his  estimation  the 
art  of  printing  exceeded.  He  had  made  but 
indifferent  progress  in  education  during  his 
early  youth;  he  was  a  slow  and  inexpert 
reader,  and  a  writer  whose  chirography 
shrank  from  exhibition.  Now,  however,  a 
book  in  the  hand  gave  him  a  cherished  senti 
ment  of  touch  with  the  larger  world  beyond 
those  blue  ranges  that  limited  his  sphere,  and 
he  spent  much  time  in  sedulously  reading  cer 
tain  volumes  which  he  had  brought  home  with 
him. 

" Spent  money  fur  'em!"  his  mother 
would  ejaculate,  contemplating  this  extreme 
audacity  of  extravagance. 

As  she  often  observed,  "the  plough- 
handles  seemed  red-hot,"  and  as  soon  as 
political  conditions  favored  he  ran  for  office. 
On  the  strength  of  his  war  record,  a  potent 
lever  in  those  days,  he  was  elected  register 
of  the  county.  True,  there  was  only  a  popu 
lation  of  about  fifty  souls  in  the  county  town, 
and  the  houses  were  log-cabins,  except  the 
temple  of  justice  itself,  which  was  a  two-story 
frame  building.  But  his  success  was  a  step 

148 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

on  the  road  to  political  preferment,  and  his 
ambitious  eyes  were  on  the  future.  Into  the 
midst  of  his  quiet  incumbency  as  register 
came  Fate,  all  intrusive,  and  found  him 
through  the  infrequent  medium  of  a  weekly 
mail.  It  was  at  the  beginning  of  the  retro 
spective  enthusiasm  that  has  served  to  revive 
the  memories  of  the  War,  and  he  received  a 
letter  from  an  old  comrade-in-arms,  giving 
the  details  of  a  brigade  reunion  shortly  to  be 
held  at  no  great  distance,  and,  being  of  the 
committee,  inviting  him  to  be  present. 

Girard  had  participated  in  great  military 
crises;  he  had  marshalled  hfs  troop  in  line 
of  battle ;  as  a  mere  boy,  he  had  ridden  with 
the  guidon  lance  planted  on  his  stirrup,  with 
the  pennant  flying  above  his  head,  as  the 
marker  to  lead  the  fierce  and  famous  Dov- 
inger  Rangers  into  the  thickest  of  the  fight; 
yet  he  had  never  felt  such  palpitant  tremors 
of  excitement  as  when  he  stood  on  the  hotel 
piazza  of  the  New  Helvetia  Springs,  where 
the  banqueters  had  gathered,  and  suffered  the 
ordeal  of  introduction  to  sundry  groups  of 
fashionable  ladies.  He  had  earlier  seen 
specimens  of  the  species  in  the  course  of  mili 
tary  transitions  through  the  cities  of  the  low- 

149 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

lands,  and  he  watched  them  narrowly  to  de 
tect  if  they  discerned  perchance  a  difference 
between  him  and  the  men  of  education  and 
social  station  with  whom  his  advancement 
in  the  army  had  associated  him.  He  did  not 
reflect  that  they  were  too  well-bred  to  reveal 
any  appreciation  of  such  incongruity,  but  he 
had  never  experienced  a  more  ardent  glow  of 
gratification  than  upon  overhearing  a  friend 's 
remark :  i '  Girard  is  great !  Anybody  would 
imagine  he  was  used  to  all  this!" 

No  strategist  was  ever  more  wary.  He 
would  not  undertake  to  dance,  for  he  readily 
perceived  that  the  gyrations  in  the  ball-room 
were  utterly  dissimilar  to  the  clumsy  caper 
ing  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed  on  the 
puncheon  floor  of  a  mountain  cabin.  He  had 
the  less  reason  for  regret  since  he  was  privi 
leged  instead  to  stroll  up  and  down  the 
veranda, — " promenade"  was  the  technical 
term, — a  slender  hand,  delicately  gloved,  on 
the  sleeve  of  his  gray  uniform,  the  old  regi 
mentals  being  de  rigueur  at  these  reunions. 
A  white  ball-gown,  such  as  he  had  never  be 
fore  seen,  fashioned  of  tissue  over  lustrous 
white  silk,  swayed  in  diaphanous  folds 
against  him,  for  these  were  the  days  of 

150 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

voluminous  draperies ;  a  head  of  auburn  hair 
elaborately  dressed  gleamed  in  the  moonlight 
near  his  shoulder.  Miss  Alicia  Duval 
thought  him  tremendously  handsome;  she 
adored  his  record,  as  she  would  have  said — 
unaware  how  little  of  it  she  knew — and  she 
did  not  so  much  intend  to  flirt  as  to  draw 
him  out,  for  there  was  something  about  him 
different  from  the  men  of  her  set,  and  it 
stimulated  her  interest. 

" Isn't  the  moon  heavenly?"  she  observed, 
gazing  at  the  brilliant  orb,  now  near  the  full, 
swinging  in  the  sky,  which  became  a  definite 
blue  in  its  light  above  the  massive  dark 
mountains  and  the  misty  valley  below ;  for  the 
building  was  as  near  the  brink  as  safety  per 
mitted — nearer,  the  cautious  opined. 

"Heavenly?  Not  more'n  it's  got  a  right 
to  be.  It's  a  heavenly  body,  ain't  it?"  he  re 
joined. 

' l  Oh,  how  sarcastic ! ' '  she  exclaimed.  ' ' In 
what  school  did  you  acquire  your  trenchant 
style?" 

He  thought  of  the  tiny  district  school 
where  he  had  acquired  the  very  little  he 
knew  of  aught,  and  said  nothing,  laughing 
constrainedly  in  lieu  of  response. 

151 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

The  music  of  the  orchestra  came  to  them 
from  the  ball-room,  and  the  rhythmic  beat 
of  dancing  feet;  the  wind  lifted  her  hair 
gently  and  brought  to  them  the  fragrance  of 
flowering  plants  and  the  pungent  aroma  of 
mint  down  in  the  depths  of  the  ravine  hard 
by,  where  lurked  a  chalybeate  spring ;  but  for 
the  noisy  rout  of  the  dance,  and  now  and 
again  the  flimsy  chatter  of  a  passing  couple 
on  the  piazza,  promenading  like  themselves, 
they  might  have  heard  the  waters  of  the  foun 
tain  rise  and  bubble  and  break  and  sigh  as 
the  pulsating  impulse  beat  like  heart-throbs, 
and  perchance  on  its  rocky  marge  an  oread 
a- singing. 

"But  you  don't  answer  me,"  she  pouted 
with  an  affectation  of  pettishness.  "Do  you 
know  that  you  trouble  yourself  to  talk  very 
little,  Captain  Girard?" 

"I  think  the  more,"  he  declared. 

"Think?  Oh,  dear  me!  I  didn't  know 
that  anybody  does  anything  so  unfashionable 
nowadays  as  to  think!  And  what  do  you 
think  about,  pray?" 

"About  you!" 

And  that  began  it :  he  was  a  gallant  man, 
and  he  had  been  a  brave  one.  He  was  not 

152 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

aware  how  far  he  was  going  on  so  short  an 
acquaintance,  but  his  temerity  was  not  dis 
pleasing  to  the  lady.  She  liked  his  manner 
of  storming  the  citadel,  and  she  did  not 
realize  that  he  merely  spoke  at  random,  as 
best  he  might.  He  was  in  his  uniform  a 
splendid  and  martial  presentment  of  military 
youth,  and  indeed  he  was  much  the  junior  of 
his  compeers. 

"Who  are  Captain  Girard's  people, 
Papa?"  she  asked  Colonel  Duval  next  morn 
ing,  as  the  family  party  sat  at  breakfast  in 
quasi  seclusion  at  one  of  the  small  round 
tables  in  the  crowded  dining-room,  full  of  the 
chatter  of  people  and  the  clatter  of  dishes. 

"Girard?"  Colonel  Duval  repeated 
thoughtfully.  "I  really  don't  know.  I  have 
an  impression  they  live  somewhere  in  East 
Tennessee.  I  never  met  him  till  just  about 
the  end  of  the  war." 

1 '  Oh,  Papa !  How  unsatisfactory  you  are ! 
You  never  know  anything  about  anybody." 

"I  should  think  his  people  must  be  very 
plain,"  said  Mrs.  Duval.  Her  social  discrim 
ination  was  extremely  acute  and  in  constant 
practice. 

"I  don't  know  why.    He  is  very  much  of 

153 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

a  gentleman,"  the  Colonel  contended.  His 
heart  was  warm  to-day  with  much  fraterniz 
ing,  and  it  was  not  kind  to  brush  the  bloom  off 
his  peach. 

"Oh,  trifles  suggest  the  fact.  He  is  not 
at  all  au  fait." 

He  was,  however,  experienced  in  ways  of 
the  world  unimagined  in  her  philosophy. 
The  reunion  had  drawn  to  a  close,  ending 
in  a  flare  of  jollity  and  tender  reminiscence 
and  good-fellowship.  The  old  soldiers  were 
all  gone  save  a  few  regular  patrons  of  the 
hotel, who  with  their  families  were  completing 
their  summer  sojourn.  Captain  Girard  lin 
gered,  too,  fascinated  by  this  glimpse  of  the 
frivolous  world,  hitherto  unimagined,  rather 
than  by  the  incense  to  his  vanity  offered  by 
his  facile  acceptance  as  a  squire  of  dames. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt  the  grind 
ing  lack  of  money.  Being  a  man  of  resource, 
he  set  about  swiftly  supplying  this  need.  In 
the  dull  days  of  inaction,  when  the  armies  lay 
supine  and  only  occasionally  the  monotony 
was  broken  by  the  engagement  of  distant 
skirmishers  or  a  picket  line  was  driven  in  on 
the  main  body,  he  had  learned  to  play  a 
game  at  cards  much  in  vogue  at  that  period, 

154 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

though  for  no  greater  hazards  than  grains 
of  corn  or  Confederate  money,  almost  as 
worthless.  In  the  realization  now  that  the 
same  principles  held  good  with  stakes  of 
value,  he  seemed  to  enter  upon  the  possession 
of  a  veritable  gold  mine.  The  peculiar  traits 
that  his  one  unique  experience  of  the  world 
had  developed — his  coolness,  his  courage,  his 
discernment  of  strategic  resources — stood 
him  in  good  stead,  and  long  after  the  micro 
cosm  of  the  hotel  lay  fast  asleep  the  cards 
were  dealt  and  play  ran  high  in  the  little 
building  called  the  casino,  ostensibly  devoted 
to  the  milder  delights  of  billiards  and  cigars. 

Either  luck  favored  him  or  he  had  rare 
discrimination  of  relative  chances  in  the  run 
of  the  cards,  or  the  phenomenally  bold  hand 
he  played  disconcerted  his  adversaries,  but 
his  almost  invariable  winning  began  to  affect 
injuriously  his  character.  Indeed,  he  was 
said  to  be  a  rook  of  unrivalled  rapacity.  Col 
onel  Duval  was  in  the  frame  of  mind  that 
his  wife  called  "bearish"  one  morning  as  his 
family  gathered  for  breakfast  in  the  limited 
privacy  of  their  circle  about  the  round  table 
in  the  dining-room. 

"I  want  you  to  avoid  that  fellow,  Alicia, " 

155 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

lie  growled  sotto  voce,  as  he  intercepted  a 
bright  matutinal  smile  that  the  fair  Alicia 
sent  as  a  morning  greeting  to  Girard,  who 
had  just  entered  and  taken  his  seat  at  a  dis 
tance.  "We  know  nothing  under  heaven 
about  his  people,  and  he  himself  has  the 
repute  of  being  a  desperate  gambler." 

His  wife  raised  significant  eyebrows.  "If 
that  is  true,  why  should  he  stay  in  this  quiet 
place?" 

Colonel  Duval  experienced  a  momentary 
embarrassment.  "Oh,  the  place  is  right 
enough.  He  stays,  no  doubt,  because  he  likes 
it.  You  might  as  well  ask  why  old  Mr.  Whit- 
mel  stays  here." 

"The  idea  of  mentioning  a  clergyman  in 
this  connection!" 

"Mr.  Whitmel  is  professionally  busy," 
cried  Alicia.  ' i  He  told  me  that  he  is  studying 
'the  disintegration  of  a  soul.'  I  hope  it  is 
not  my  soul." 

The  phrase  probably  interested  Alicia  in 
her  idleness,  for  she  was  certainly  actuated 
by  no  view  of  a  moral  uplift  in  the  character 
of  Girard,  the  handsome  gambler.  She  did 
not  recognize  a  subtle  cruelty  in  her  system 

156 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

of  universal  fascination,  but  her  vanity  de 
manded  constant  tribute,  and  she  was  pecu 
liarly  absorbed  in  the  effort  to  bring  to  her 
feet  this  man  of  iron,  her  knight  in  armor,  as 
she  was  wont  to  call  him,  to  control  him  with 
her  influence,  to  bend  this  unmalleable 
material  like  the  proverbial  wax  in  her  hands. 
She  had  great  faith  in  the  coercive  power  of 
her  hazel  eyes,  and  she  brought  their  batter 
ies  to  bear  on  Girard  on  the  first  occasion 
when  she  had  him  at  her  mercy. 

"I  have  heard  something  about  you  which 
is  very  painful, ' '  she  said  one  day  as  they  sat 
together  beside  the  chalybeate  spring.  The 
crag,  all  discolored  in  rust-red  streaks  by 
the  dripping  of  the  mineral  water  through 
its  interstices,  towered  above  their  heads; 
the  ferns,  exquisite  and  of  subtle  fragrance, 
tufted  the  niches;  the  trees  were  close  about 
them,  and  below,  on  the  precipitous  slope; 
sometimes  the  lush  green  boughs  parted, 
revealing  a  distant  landscape  of  azure  ranges, 
far  stretching  against  a  sky  as  blue,  and  in 
the  valley  of  the  foreground  long  bars  of 
golden  hue,  where  fields,  denuded  of  the  har 
vested  wheat,  took  the  sun.  Girard  lounged, 
157 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

languid,  taciturn,  and  quiescent  as  ever,  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  circular  rock  basin 
wherein  the  clear  water  fell. 

"I  will  tell  you  what  it  is,"  Alicia  went 
on,  after  a  pause,  for,  though  he  looked  atten 
tive,  he  gave  not  even  a  glance  of  question. 
"I  hear  that  you  gamble." 

His  gaze  concentrated  as  he  knitted  his 
brows,  but  he  said  nothing. 

She  pulled  her  broad  straw  hat  forward 
on  her  auburn  hair  and  readjusted  the 
flounces  of  her  white  morning  dress,  saying 
while  thus  engaged,  "Yes,  indeed;  that  you 
gamble — like — like  fury ! ' ' 

"Why,  don't  you  know  that's  against  the 
law?"  he  demanded  unexpectedly. 

"I  know  that  it  is  very  wrong  and  sinful," 
she  said  solemnly. 

"Thanky.  I'll  put  that  in  my  pipe  an' 
smoke  it!  I'm  very  wrong  and  sinful,  I  am 
given  to  understand." 

"Why,  I  didn't  mean  you  so  much,"  she 
faltered,  perturbed  by  this  sudden  charge 
of  the  enemy.  "I  meant  the  practice." 

"Oh,  I  know  that  I'm  a  sinner  in  more 
ways  'n  one;  but  I  didn't  know  that  you  were 
a  lady-preacher." 

158 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

"You  mean  that  it  is  none  of  my  busi 
ness " 

"You  ought  to  be  so  glad  of  that,"  he 
retorted. 

She  maintained  a  silence  that  might  have 
suggested  a  degree  of  offended  pride,  and 
she  was  truly  humiliated  that  her  vaunted 
hazel  eyes  had  so  signally  failed  to  work  their 
wonted  charm.  As  they  strolled  back  to 
gether  up  the  steep  path  to  the  hotel  he 
seemed  either  unobservant  or  uncaring,  so 
impassive  were  his  manners,  and  she  was 
aware  that  her  demonstration  had  resulted 
in  giving  him  information  which  he  could  not 
otherwise  have  gained.  Later,  she  was  net 
tled  to  notice  that  he  had  utilized  it  in  prosaic 
fashion,  for  that  night  no  lights  flared  late 
from  the  casino. 

The  gamesters,  informed  that  rumors 
were  a-wing,  had  betaken  themselves  else 
where.  A  small  smoking-room  in  the  hotel 
proper  seemed  less  obnoxious  to  suspicion  in 
the  depleted  condition  of  the  guest-list,  since 
autumn  was  now  approaching.  After  eleven 
o'clock  the  coterie  would  scarcely  be  subject 
to  interruption,  and  there  they  gathered  as 
the  hour  waxed  late.  The  cards  were  duly 

159 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

dealt,  the  draw  was  on,  when  suddenly  the 
door  opened  and  old  Mr.  Whitmel,  his 
favorite  meerschaum  in  his  hand  and  a  sheaf 
of  newly  arrived  journals,  entered  with  the 
evident  intention  of  a  prolonged  stay.  A 
"  standpatter"  seemed  hardly  so  assured  as 
before  he  encountered  the  dim,  surprised 
gaze,  but  the  old  clergyman  was  esteemed  a 
good  sort,  and  he  ventured  on  a  reminder : 

"You  have  been  here  before,  haven't  you, 
Mr.  "Whitmel?  Saw  a  deal  of  this  sort  of 
thing  in  the  army!"  And  he  rattled  the 
chips  significantly. 

"Used  to  see  that  sort  of  thing  in  the 
army?  Yes,  yes,  indeed — more  than  I  wanted 
to  see — very  much  more!" 

Colonel  Duval  took  schooling  much  amiss. 
He  turned  up  his  florid  face  with  its  auburn 
mustachios  and  Burnside  whiskers  from  its 
bending  over  the  cards  and  showed  a  broad 
arch  of  glittering  white  teeth  in  an  ungenial 
laugh. 

"Bemember,  Mr.  Whitmel,  at  that  fight 
we  had  in  the  hills  not  far  from  the  Ocoee, 
how  you  rebuked  two  artillerymen  for  swear 
ing!  Something  was  wrong  with  the  vent- 
hole  of  the  piece,  and  one  of  the  gunners 

160 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

asked  what  business  you  had  with  their 
language;  and  you  said,  'I  am  a  minister  of 
the  Lord,'  and  the  fellow  gave  it  back  very 
patly,  'I  ain't  carin'  ef  you  was  a  minister  of 
state!'  Then  you  said,  'No,  you  would 
doubtless  swear  in  the  presence  of  an  angel.' 
And  the  fellow  with  the  sponge-staff  declared, 
'  Say,  Mister,  ef  you  are  that,  you  are  an  angel 
off  your  feed  certain' — you  were  worn  to  skin 
and  bone  then — 'an'  the  rations  of  manna 
must  be  ez  skimpy  in  heaven  ez  the  rations  o' 
bacon  down  here  in  Dixie. '  Ha,  ha,  ha ! " 

Mr.  Whitmel  had  taken  a  seat  in  an  easy- 
chair;  he  had  struck  a  match  and  was  com 
posedly  kindling  his  pipe.  "I  felt  nearer  a 
higher  communion  that  day  than  often  since," 
he  said. 

The  coterie  of  gentlemen  looked  at  one 
another  in  disconsolate  uncertainty,  and  one 
turned  his  cards  face  downward  and  laid 
them  resignedly  on  the  table.  The  party  was 
evidently  in  for  one  of  the  old  chaplain's  long 
stories,  with  a  few  words  by  way  of  applica 
tion,  and  there  was  no  decent  opportunity 
to  demur.  They  were  the  intruders  in  the 
smoking-room — not  he!  Here  with  his  pipe 
and  his  paper,  he  was  within  the  acconimoda- 

11  161 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

tion  assigned  him.  They  must  hie  them  back 
to  the  casino  to  be  at  ease,  and  this  would 
they  do  when  he  should  reach  the  end  of  his 
story — if  indeed  it  had  an  end. 

For  with  the  prolixity  of  the  eye-witness 
he  was  detailing  the  points  of  the  battle ;  what 
troops  were  engaged;  how  the  flank  was 
turned ;  how  the  reserve  was  delayed ;  how  the 
guns  were  planted;  how  the  cavalry  was  or 
dered  to  charge  over  impracticable  ground, 
and  how  in  consequence  he  saw  a  squadron 
literally  annihilated ;  how  for  hours  after  the 
fight  was  over  a  sergeant  of  the  Dovinger 
Eangers  pervaded  the  field  with  the  guidon, 
calling  on  them  by  name  to  rally. 

"And,  gentlemen,"  he  continued,  turning 
in  his  chair,  the  fire  kindling  in  his  eyes  as  it 
died  in  the  bowl  of  his  pipe,  "not  one  man 
responded,  for  none  could  rise  from  that 
horrid  slaughter." 

There  was  a  moment  of  tense  silence. 
Then,  "Back  and  forth  the  guidon  flaunted, 
and  the  rain  began  to  fall,  and  the  night  came 
on,  and  still  the  dusk  echoed  the  cry,  'Guide 
right!  Dovinger 's  Eangers!  Bally  on  the 
guidon!  Bally  on  the  reserve!'  " 

The  old  chaplain  stuck  his  pipe  into  his 

162 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

mouth  and  brought  it  aflarc  again  with  two 
or  three  strong  indrawing  respirations. 

'  '  The  surgeons  said  it  would  end  in  a  case 
of  dementia.  I  was  sorry,  for  I  had  seen 
much  that  day  that  hurt  me,  and  more  than 
all  was  this.  For  I  could  picture  that  valiant 
young  spirit  going  through  life,  spared  by 
God's  mercy;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  when 
the  enemy,  in  whatever  guise,  should  press 
him  hard  and  defeat  should  bear  him  down 
he  would  have  the  courage  and  the  ardor  and 
the  moral  strength  to  rally  on  the  reserve. 
He  would  rally  on  the  guidon. ' ' 

The  old  chaplain  pulled  strongly  at  his 
pipe,  setting  the  blue  wreaths  of  smoke  circl 
ing  about  his  head.  "I  should  know  that 
young  fellow  again  wherever  I  might  chance 
to  see  him." 

"Did  he  collapse  at  last  and  verify  the 
surgeon's  prophecy!"  asked  the  dealer. 

"Well,"  drawled  the  chaplain,  with  a  little 
flattered  laugh,  "I  myself  took  care  of  that. 
Many  years  ago  I  studied  medicine,  before  I 
was  favored  with  a  higher  call.  Neurology 
was  my  line.  When  the  boy's  horse  sank  ex 
hausted  beneath  him,  and  he  fell  into  a  sleep 
or  stupor  on  the  carcass,  I  removed  the  object 

163 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

of  the  obsession.  I  slipped  the  flag-staff, 
guidon  and  all,  into  a  crevice  of  the  rocks, 
where  it  will  remain  till  the  end  of  our  time, 
be  sure."  He  laughed  in  relish  of  his  arbi 
trary  intervention. 

"  There  was  a  fine  healthy  clamor  in 
camp  the  next  morning  about  the  lost  guidon. 
But  I  did  the  soldier  no  damage,  for  he  had 
been  promoted  to  a  lieutenancy  for  special 
gallantry  on  the  field,  and  he  therefore  could 
no  longer  have  carried  the  guidon  if  he 
had  had  both  the  flag  and  the  troop." 

The  stories  of  camp  and  field,  thus  be 
gun,  swiftly  multiplied ;  they  wore  the  fire  to 
embers,  and  the  oil  sank  low  in  the  lamps. 
There  was  a  chill  sense  of  dawn  in  the  blue- 
gray  mist  when  the  group,  separating  at  last, 
issued  upon  the  veranda;  the  moon,  so  long 
hovering  over  the  sombre  massive  moun 
tains,  was  slowly  sinking  in  the  west. 

Among  the  shadows  of  the  pillars  a  tall, 
martial  figure  lurked  in  ambush  for  the  old 
chaplain,  as  he  rounded  the  corner  of  the 
veranda  on  his  way  to  his  own  quarters. 

"Pa 'son,"  a  husky  voice  spoke  from  out 
the  dim  comminglement  of  the  mist  and  the 

164 


THE  LOST  GUIDON 

moon, ' '  'twas  me  that  carried  that  guidon  in 
Dovinger's  Eangers." 

"I  know  it,"  declared  the  triumphant 
tactician.  "I  recognized  you  as  soon  as  I 
saw  you  again." 

1 '  I  'm  through  with  this, ' '  the  young  moun 
taineer  exclaimed  abruptly,  with  an  eloquent 
gesture  of  renunciation  toward  the  deserted 
card-table  visible  through  the  vista  of  open 
doors.  "I'm  going  home — to  work!  I'll 
never  forget  that  I  was  marker  in  Dovinger  's 
Eangers.  I  carried  the  guidon!  And  that 
last  day  I  marked  their  way  to  glory! 
There's  nothing  left  of  them  except  honor 
and  duty,  but  I'll  rally  on  that,  Chaplain. 
Never  fear  for  me,  again.  I'll  rally  on  the 
reserve ! ' ' 


165 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

It  might  well  be  called  the  country  of  the 
outlaw,  this  vast  tract  of  dense  mountain 
forests  and  craggy  ravines,  this  congeries 
of  swirling  torrents  and  cataracts  and  rapids. 
Here  wild  beasts  lurked  out  their  savage 
lives,  subsisting  by  fang  and  prey, — the  pan 
ther,  the  bear,  the  catamount,  the  wolf, — 
and  like  unto  them,  ferocious  and  fugitive, 
both  fearsome  and  afraid,  the  man  with  a 
"wolf's  head,"  on  which  was  set  a  price,  even 
as  the  State's  bounty  for  the  scalps  of  the 
ravening  brutes. 

One  gloomy  October  afternoon,  the  zest 
of  a  group  of  sportsmen,  who  had  pitched 
their  camp  in  this  sequestered  wilderness, 
suffered  an  abatement  on  the  discovery  of  the 
repute  of  the  region  and  the  possibility  of 
being  summoned  to  serve  on  a  sheriff's 
posse  in  the  discharge  of  the  grimmest  of 
duties. 

"But  he  is  no  outlaw  in  the  proper  sense 
of  the  term.  The  phrase  has  survived,  but 
the  fact  is  obsolete, ' '  said  Seymour,  who  was 
both  a  prig  and  a  purist,  a  man  of  leisure, 

166 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

and  bookish,  but  a  good  shot,  and  vain  of  his 
sylvan  accomplishments.  "Our  law  places 
no  man  beyond  the  pale  of  its  protection.  He 
has  a  constitutional  right  to  plead  his  case 
in  court. ' ' 

"What  is  the  reward  offered  to  hale  him 
forth  and  force  him  to  enjoy  that  privilege- 
five  hundred  dollars?"  asked  Bygrave,  who 
was  a  newspaper  man  and  had  a  habit  of 
easy  satire. 

' '  Of  course  he  would  never  suffer  himself 
to  be  taken  alive."  PurcelPs  vocation  was 
that  of  a  broker,  and  he  was  given  to  the 
discrimination  of  chances  and  relative  values. 
"Therefore  he  is  as  definitely  capiit  lupinum 
as  any  outlaw  of  old.  Nobody  would  be  held 
accountable  for  cracking  his  ' wolf's  head' 
off,  in  the  effort  to  arrest  him  for  the  sake  of 
the  five  hundred  dollars.  But,  meantime, 
how  does  the  fellow  contrive  to  live?" 

"Jes  by  his  rifle,  I  reckon,"  replied  the 
rural  gossip  whom  intrusive  curiosity  occa 
sionally  lured  to  their  camp-fire.  "Though 
sence  that  thar  big  reward  hev  been  n'ised 
abroad,  I'd  think  he'd  be  plumb  afraid  ter 
fire  a  shot.  The  echoes  be  mighty  peart  these 
dumb,  damp  fall  days." 

167 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

The  old  jeans-clad  mountaineer  had  a  cer 
tain  keen  spryness  of  aspect,  despite  his  bent 
knees  and  stooped  shoulders.  His  deeply 
grooved,  narrow,  thin  face  was  yet  more 
elongated  by  the  extension  of  a  high  fore 
head  into  a  bald  crown,  for  he  wore  his 
broad  wool  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head. 
There  was  something  in  his  countenance  not 
dissimilar  to  the  facial  contour  of  a  grass 
hopper,  and  the  suggestion  was  heightened  by 
his  persistent,  rasping  chirp. 

"That's  what  frets  Meddy ;  she  can't  abide 
the  idee  of  huntin'  a  human  with  sech  special 
coursers  ez  money  reward.  She  'lows  it 
mought  tempt  a'  evil  man  or  a'  ignorunt  one 
ter  swear  a  miser 'ble  wretch's  life  away. 
Let  the  law  strengthen  its  own  hands — that's 
what  Meddy  say.  Don't  kindle  the  sperit 
of  Cain  in  every  brother's  breast.  Oh, 
Meddy  is  plumb  comical  whenst  she  fairly 
gits  ter  goin',  though  it's  all  on  account  of 
that  thar  man  what  war  growed  up  in  a 
tree.'' 

The  dryadic  suggestions  of  a  dendroidal 
captivity  flashed  into  Seymour's  mind  with 
the  phrase,  and  stimulated  his  curiosity  as  to 
some  quaint  rural  perversion  of  the  legend. 

1G8 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

But  it  was  grim  fact  that  the  olft  mountaineer 
detailed  in  answer  to  the  question,  as  he  sat 
on  a  log  by  the  fire,  while  the  sportsmen  lay; 
on  the  ground  about  it  and  idly  listened. 

"One  day — 't  war  'bout  two  year'  ago — 
thar  war  a  valley-man  up  hyar  a-huntin'  in 
the  mountings  with  some  other  fellers,  an' 
toward  sunset  he  war  a-waitin'  at  a  stand 
on  a  deer-path  up  thar  nigh  Headlong  Creek, 
hopin'  ter  git  a  shot  whenst  the  deer  went 
down  to  drink.  Waal,  I  reckon  luck  war 
ag'in'  him,  fer  he  got  nuthin'  but  durned 
tired.  So,  ez  he  waited,  he  grounded  his  rifle, 
an'  leaned  himself  ag'in'  a  great  big  tree  ter 
rest  his  bones.  And  presently  he  jes  hap 
pened  ter  turn  his  head,  an',  folks!  he  seen 
a  sight!  Fer  thar,  right  close  ter  his  cheek, 
he  looked  into  a  skellington's  eye-sockets. 
Thar  war  a  skellington's  grisly  face  peerin' 
at  him  through  a  crack  in  the  bark." 

The  raconteur  suddenly  stopped  short, 
while  the  group  remained  silent  in  expec 
tancy.  The  camp-fire,  with  its  elastic,  leap 
ing  flames,  had  bepainted  the  darkening 
avenues  of  the  russet  woods  with  long,  fibrous 
strokes  of  red  and  yellow,  as  with  a  brush 
scant  of  color.  The  autumnal  air  was  dank, 

169 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

with  subtle  shivers.  A  precipice  was  not  far 
distant  on  the  western  side,  and  there  the 
darksome  forest  fell  away,  showing  above 
the  massive,  purple  mountains  a  section  of 
sky  in  a  heightened  clarity  of  tint,  a  suave, 
saffron  hue,  with  one  horizontal  bar  of  vivid 
vermilion  that  lured  the  eye.  The  old  moun 
taineer  gazed  retrospectively  at  it  as  he  re 
sumed  : 

"Waal,  sirs,  that  town-man  had  never 
consorted  with  sech  ez  skellingtons.  He  lit 
out  straight!  He  made  tracks!  He  never 
stopped  till  he  reached  Colbury,  an'  thar  he 
told  his  tale.  Then  the  sheriff  he  tuk  a  hand 
in  the  game.  Skellingtons,  he  said,  didn't 
grow  on  trees  spontaneous,  an'  he  hed  an 
official  interes'  in  human  relics  out  o'  place. 
So  he  kem, — the  tree  is  'twixt  hyar  an'  my 
house  thar  on  the  rise, — an',  folks!  the  tale 
war  plain.  Some  man  chased  off 'n  the  face 
of  the  yearth,  hid  out  from  the  law, — that's 
the  way  Meddy  takes  it, — he  hed  clomb  the 
tree,  an'  it  bein'  holler,  he  drapped  down 
inside  it,  thinkin'  o'  course  he  could  git  out 
the  way  he  went  in.  But,  no !  It  mought  hev 
been  deeper  'n  he  calculated,  or  mo'  narrow, 
but  he  couldn't  make  the  rise.  He  died  still 

170 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

struggling  fer  his  long,  bony  fingers  war 
gripped  in  the  wood — it's  rotted  a  deal 
sence  then." 

"Who  was  the  man!"  asked  Seymour. 

"Nobody  knows, — nobody  keers  'cept' 
Meddy.  She  hev  wep '  a  bushel  o '  tears  about 
him.  The  cor'ner  'lowed  from  the  old-fash 
ioned  flint-lock  rifle  he  hed  with  him  that  it 
mus'  hev  happened  nigh  a  hunderd  years 
ago.  Meddy  she  will  git  ter  studyin'  on  that 
of  a  winter  night,  an'  how  the  woman  that 
keered  fer  him  mus'  hev  watched  an'  waited 
fer  him,  an'  'lowed  he  war  deceitful  an'  de- 
sertin',  an'  mebbe  held  a  gredge  agin  him, 
whilst  he  war  dyin'  so  pitiful  an'  helpless, 
walled  up  in  that  tree.  Then  Meddy  will  tune 
up  agin,  an'  mighty  nigh  cry  her  eyes  out. 
He  warn't  even  graced  with  a  death-bed  ter 
breathe  his  last ;  Meddy  air  partic'lar  afflicted 
that  he  hed  ter  die  afoot."  Old  Kettison 
glanced  about  the  circle,  consciously  face 
tious,  his  heavily  grooved  face  distended  in  a 
mocking  grin. 

"A  horrible  fate!"  exclaimed  Seymour, 
with  a  half-shudder. 

"Edzac'ly,"  the  old  mountaineer  assented 
easily. 

171 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

" What's  her  name — Meggy f"  asked  the 
journalist,  with  a  mechanical  aptitude  for 
detail,  no  definite  curiosity. 

"Naw;  Meddy — short  fer  Meddlesome. 
Her  right  name  is  Clementina  Haddox ;  but  I 
reckon  every  livin'  soul  hev  forgot'  it  but  me. 
She  is  jes  Meddlesome  by  name,  an'  meddle 
some  by  natur  V 

He  suddenly  turned,  gazing  up  the  steep, 
wooded  slope  with  an  expectant  mien,  for  the 
gentle  rustling  amidst  the  dense,  red  leaves 
of  the  sumac-bushes  heralded  an  approach. 

"That  mus'  be  Meddy  now,"  he  com 
mented,  "with  her  salt-risin'  bread.  She 
'lowed  she  war  goin'  ter  fetch  you-uns  some 
whenst  I  tol'  her  you-uns  war  lackin'." 

For  the  camp-hunt  had  already  been  sig 
nalized  by  divers  disasters:  the  store  of 
loaves  in  the  wagon  had  been  soaked  by  an 
inopportune  shower;  the  young  mountaineer 
who  had  combined  the  offices  of  guide  and 
cook  was  the  victim  of  an  accidental  discharge 
of  a  fowling-piece,  receiving  a  load  of  bird- 
shot  full  in  his  face.  Though  his  injury  was 
slight,  he  had  returned  home,  promising  to 
supply  his  place  by  sending  his  brother,  who 
had  not  yet  arrived.  PurcelPs  boast  that  he 

172 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

could  bake  ash-cake  proved  a  bluff,  and 
although  the  party  could  and  did  broil  bacon 
and  even  birds  on  the  coals,  they  were  re 
duced  to  the  extremity  of  need  for  the  staff 
of  life. 

Hence  they  were  predisposed  in  the  min- 
istrant's  favor  as  she  appeared,  and  were 
surprised  to  find  that  Meddlesome,  instead  of 
masterful  and  middle-aged,  was  a  girl  of 
eighteen,  looking  very  shy  and  appealing  as 
she  paused  on  the  verge  of  the  flaring  sumac 
copse,  one  hand  lifted  to  a  swaying  bough, 
the  other  arm  sustaining  a  basket.  Even  her 
coarse  gown  lent  itself  to  pleasing  effect,  since 
its  dull-brown  hue  composed  well  with  the 
red  and  russet  glow  of  the  leaves  about  her, 
and  its  short  waist,  close  sleeves,  and  scant 
skirt,  reaching  to  the  instep,  the  immemorial 
fashion  of  the  hills,  were  less  of  a  grotesque 
rusticity  since  there  was  prevalent  elsewhere 
a  vogue  of  quasi-Empire  modes,  of  which  the 
cut  of  her  garb  was  reminiscent.  A  saffron 
kerchief  about  her  throat  had  in  its  folds  a 
necklace  of  over-cup  acorns  in  three  strands, 
and  her  hair,  meekly  parted  on  her  forehead, 
was  of  a  lustrous  brown,  and  fell  in  heavy  un 
dulations  on  her  shoulders.  There  was  a 

173 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

delicate  but  distinct  tracery  of  blue  veins  in 
her  milky-white  complexion,  and  she  might 
have  seemed  eminently  calculated  for  med 
dling  disastrously  with  the  peace  of  mind 
of  the  mountain  youth  were  it  not  for  the 
preoccupied  expression  of  her  eyes.  Though 
large,  brown  and  long-lashed,  they  were 
full  of  care  and  perplexity,  and  a  frowning, 
disconcerted  line  between  her  eye-brows 
was  so  marked  as  almost  to  throw  her  face 
out  of  drawing.  Troubled  about  many 
things,  evidently,  was  Meddlesome.  She 
could  not  even  delegate  the  opening  of  a 
basket  that  her  little  brother  had  brought  and 
placed  beside  the  camp-fire. 

"  Don't,  Gran 'dad,"  she  exclaimed  sud 
denly,  stepping  alertly  forward — "don't  put 
that  loaf  in  that  thar  bread-box;  the  box 
'pears  ter  be  damp.  Leave  the  loaf  in  the 
big  basket  till  ter-morrer.  It'll  eat  shorter 
then,  bein'  fraish-baked.  They  kin  hev  these 
biscuits  fer  supper," — dropping  on  one  knee 
and  setting  forth  on  the  cloth,  from  the  basket 
on  her  arm,  some  thick  soggy-looking  lumps 
of  dough, — "I  baked  some  dodgers,  too — 
four,  six,  eight,  ten," — she  was  counting  a 
dozen  golden-brown  cates  of  delectable  as 
pect — "knowin'  they  would  hone  fer  corn- 

174 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

meal  arter  hunting  an7  nuthin'  else  nohow  air 
fitten  ter  eat  with  f  eesh  or  aigs.  Hev  you-uns 
got  any  aigs  ? ' '  She  sprang  up,  and,  stand 
ing  on  agile  tiptoe,  peered  without  ceremony 
into  their  wagon.  Instantly  she  recoiled  with 
a  cry  of  horrified  reproach.  ' '  Thar  's  ants  in 
yer  short-sweetenin ' !  How  could  you-uns 
let  sech  ez  that  happen?" 

' '  Oh,  surely  not, ' '  exclaimed  Purcell,  hast 
ening  to  her  side.  But  the  fact  could  not  be 
gainsaid ;  the  neglected  sugar  was  spoiled. 

Meddlesome 's  unwarranted  intrusion  into 
the  arcana  of  their  domestic  concerns  dis 
closed  other  shortcomings.  "Why  n't  ye 
keep  the  top  on  yer  coffee-can?  Don't  ye 
know  the  coffee  will  lose  heart,  settin'  open?" 
She  repaired  this  oversight  with  a  deft  touch, 
and  then  proceeded:  "We-uns  ain't  got  no 
short-sweetenin'  at  our  house,  but  I'll  send 
my  leetle  brother  ter  fetch  some  long-sweet- 
enin'  fer  yer  coffee  ter  night.  Hyar,  Sol," 
— addressing  the  small,  limber,  tow-headed, 
barefooted  boy,  a  ludicrous  miniature  of  a 
man  in  long,  loose,  brown-jeans  trousers  sup 
ported  by  a  single  suspender  over  an  un 
bleached  cotton  shirt, — "run  ter  the  house 
an'  fetch  the  sorghum-jug." 

As  Sol  started  off  with  the  alertness  of 

175 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

a  scurrying  rabbit,  she  shrilly  called  out  in 
a  frenzy  of  warning:  "Go  the  other  way, 
Sol — up  through  the  pawpaws !  Them  cherty 
rocks  will  cut  yer  feet  like  a  knife." 

Sol  had  nerves  of  his  own.  Her  sharp 
cry  had  caused  him  to  spring  precipitately 
backward,  frightened,  but  uncomprehending 
his  danger.  Being  unhurt,  he  was  resentful. 
"They  ain't  none  o'  yer  feet,  nohow, "  he 
grumbled,  making  a  fresh  start  at  less  speed. 

"Oh,  yes,  Sol,"  said  the  old  grandfather, 
enjoying  the  contretemps  and  the  sentiment 
of  revolt  against  Meddlesome 's  iron  rule. 
"Everything  belongs  ter  Meddlesome  one 
way  or  another,  'ca'se  she  jes  makes  it  hern. 
So  take  keer  of  yer  feet  for  her  sake."  He 
turned  toward  her  jocosely  as  the  small  emis 
sary  disappeared  among  the  undergrowth. 
"I  jes  been  tellin'  these  hunter-men,  Meddy, 
'bout  how  ye  sets  yerself  even  ter  meddle 
with  other  folkses'  mournin', — what  they  got 
through  with  a  hunderd  year'  ago — tormen- 
tatin'  'bout  that  thar  man  what  war  starved 
in  the  tree." 

She  heard  him,  doubtless,  for  a  rising 
flush  betokened  her  deprecation  of  this  ridi 
cule  in  the  presence  of  these  strangers.  But 

176 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

it  was  rather  that  she  remembered  his  words 
afterward  than  heeded  them  now.  It  would 
seem  that  certain  incidents,  insignificant  in 
themselves,  are  the  pivots  on  which  turns  the 
scheme  of  fate.  She  could  not  imagine  that 
upon  her  action  in  the  next  few  seconds  de 
pended  grave  potentialities  in  more  lives  than 
one.  On  the  contrary,  her  deliberations  were 
of  a  trivial  subject,  even  ludicrous  in  any 
other  estimation  than  her  own. 

Sol  was  small,  she  argued  within  herself, 
the  jug  was  large  and  sticky.  He  might  be 
tempted  to  lighten  it,  for  Sol  had  saccharine 
predilections,  and  the  helpless  jug  was  at  his 
mercy.  Sol  had  scant  judgment  and  one  suit 
of  clothes  available;  the  other,  sopping  wet 
from  the  wash,  now  swayed  in  the  process  of 
drying  on  an  elder-bush  in  the  dooryard. 
Should  his  integrity  succumb,  and  the  jug  tilt 
too  far,  the  stream  of  sorghum  might  inun 
date  his  raiment,  and  the  catastrophe  would 
place  him  beyond  the  pale  of  polite  society. 
The  seclusion  of  bed  would  be  the  only  place 
for  Sol  till  such  time  as  the  elder-bush  should 
bear  the  fruit  of  dry  clothes. 

6 '  Poor  Sol ! ' '  she  exclaimed,  her  prophetic 
sympathy  bridging  the  chasm  between  pos- 
12  IT? 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

sibility  and  accomplished  fact.  "I'll  fetch 
the  jug  myself.  I'll  take  the  short  cut  an' 
head  him." 

Thus  she  set  her  feet  in  the  path  of  her 
future.  It  led  her  into  dense,  tangled  woods, 
clambering  over  outcropping  ledges  and 
boulders.  By  the  flare  of  the  west  she  guided 
her  progress  straight  to  the  east  till  she 
reached  the  banks  of  Headlong  Creek  on 
its  tumultuous  course  down  the  mountain 
side.  In  her  hasty  enterprise  she  had  not 
counted  on  crossing  it,  but  Meddlesome 
rarely  turned  back.  She  was  strong  and  ac 
tive,  and  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  she 
was  springing  from  one  to  another  of  the 
great,  half-submerged  boulders  amidst  the 
whirl  of  the  transparent  crystal-brown  water, 
with  its  fleck  and  fringe  of  white  foam. 
More  than  once,  to  evade  the  dizzying  effect 
of  the  sinuous  motion  and  the  continuous 
roar,  she  stood  still  in  midstream  and  gazed 
upward  or  at  the  opposite  bank.  The  woods 
were  dense  on  the  slope.  All  in  red  and  yel 
low  and  variant  russet  and  brown  tints,  the 
canopy  of  the  forest  foliage  was  impene 
trable.  The  great,  dark  boles  of  oak  and  gum 
and  spruce  contrasted  sharply  with  the  white 

178 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

and  greenish-gray  trunks  of  beeches  and  syca 
more  and  poplar,  and,  thus  breaking  the 
monotony,  gave  long,  almost  illimitable 
avenues  of  sylvan  vistas.  She  noted  amidst 
a  growth  of  willows  on  the  opposite  bank,  at 
the  water  's-edge,  a  spring,  a  circular,  rock- 
bound  reservoir;  in  the  marshy  margin  she 
could  see  the  imprints  of  the  cleft  hoofs  of 
deer,  and  thence  ran  the  indefinite  trail  known 
as  a  deer-path.  The  dense  covert  along  the 
steep  slope  was  a  famous  " deer- stand,"  and 
there  many  a  fine  buck  had  been  killed.  All 
at  once  she  was  reminded  of  the  storied  tree 
hard  by,  the  tragedy  of  which  she  had  often 
bewept. 

There  it  stood,  dead  itself,  weird,  phantas 
mal,  as  befitted  the  housing  of  so  drear  a  fate. 
Its  branches  now  bore  no  leaves.  The 
lightnings  of  a  last-year's  storm  had 
scorched  out  its  vital  force  and  riven  the 
fibre  of  the  wood.  Here  and  there,  too,  the 
tooth  of  decay  had  gnawed  fissures  that  the 
bark  had  not  earlier  known;  and  from  one 
of  these — she  thought  herself  in  a  dream — 
a  ghastly,  white  face  looked  out  suddenly,  and 
as  suddenly  vanished ! 

Her  heart  gave  one  wild  plunge,  then  it 

179 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

seemed  to  cease  to  beat.  She  wondered 
afterward  that  she  did  not  collapse,  and  sink 
into  the  plunging  rapids  to  drown,  beaten 
and  bruised  against  the  rocks.  It  was  a 
muscular  instinct  that  sustained  her  rather 
than  a  conscious  impulse  of  self-preserva 
tion.  Motionless,  horrified,  amazed,  she 
could  only  gaze  at  the  empty  fissure  of  the 
tree  on  the  slope.  She  could  not  then  dis 
criminate  the  wild,  spectral  imaginations  that 
assailed  her  untutored  mind.  She  could  not 
remember  these  fantasies  later.  It  was  a 
relief  so  great  that  the  anguish  of  the  physical 
reaction  was  scarcely  less  poignant  than  the 
original  shock  when  she  realized  that  this  face 
was  not  the  grisly  skeleton  lineaments  that 
had  looked  out  thence  heretofore,  but  was 
clothed  with  flesh,  though  gaunt,  pallid,  fur 
tive.  Once  more,  as  she  gazed,  it  appeared 
in  a  mere  glimpse  at  the  fissure,  and  in  that 
instant  a  glance  was  interchanged.  The  next 
moment  a  hand  appeared, — beckoning  her  to 
approach. 

It  was  a  gruesome  mandate.  She  had 
scant  choice.  She  did  not  doubt  that  this 
was  the  fugitive,  the  "wolf's  head,"  and 
should  she  turn  to  flee,  he  could  stop  her  prog- 

180 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

ress  with  a  pistol-ball,  for  doubtless  he  would 
fancy  her  alert  to  disclose  the  'discovery  and 
share  in  the  reward.  Perhaps  feminine  curi 
osity  aided  fear ;  perhaps  only  her  proclivity 
to  find  an  employ  in  the  management  of 
others  influenced  her  decision;  though  trem 
bling  in  every  fibre,  she  crossed  the  interval 
of  water,  and  made  her  way  up  the  slope. 
But  when  she  reached  the  fateful  tree  it  was 
she  who  spoke  first.  He  cast  so  ravenous  a 
glance  at  the  basket  on  her  arm  that  all  his 
story  of  want  and  woe  was  revealed.  Star 
vation  had  induced  his  disclosure  of  his 
identity. 

"It's  empty,"  she  said,  inverting  the 
basket.  She  watched  him  flinch,  and  asked 
wonderingly,  "Is  game  skeerce?" 

His  eyes  were  at  once  forlorn  and  fierce. 
"Oh,  yes,  powerful  skeerce,"  he  replied  with 
a  bitter  laugh. 

There  was  an  enigma  in  the  rejoinder; 
she  did  not  stay  to  read  the  riddle,  but  went 
on  to  possess  the  situation,  according  to  her 
wont.  "Ye  hev  tuk  a  powerful  pore  place 
ter  hide,"  she  admonished  him.  "This  tree 
is  a  plumb  cur'osity.  Gran 'dad  Kettison  war 
tellin'  some  camp-hunters  'bout'n  it  jes  this 

181 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

evenin'.  Like  ez  not  they'll  kem  ter  view 
it." 

His  eyes  dilated  with  a  sudden  accession 
of  terror  that  seemed  always  a-smoulder. 
"Lawd,  Lawd,  Lawd!"  he  moaned 
wretchedly. 

Meddlesome  was  true  to  her  name  and 
tradition.  "Ye  oughter  hev  remembered  the 
Lawd  'fore  ye  done  it,"  she  said,  with  a  re 
pellent  impulse;  then  she  would  have  given 
much  to  recall  the  reproach.  The  man  was 
desperate;  his  safety  lay  in  her  silence.  A 
pistol-shot  would  secure  it,  and  anger  would 
limber  the  trigger. 

But  he  did  not  seem  indignant.  His  eyes, 
intelligent  and  feverishly  bright,  gazed  down 
at  her  only  in  obvious  dismay  and  surprise. 
"Done  what?"  he  asked,  and  as,  prudence 
prevailing  for  once,  she  did  not  reply,  he 
spoke  for  her.  "The  murder,  ye  mean? 
Why,  gal,  I  warn't  even  thar.  I  knowed 
nuthin'  'bout  it  till  later.  Ez  God  is  my 
helper  and  my  hope,  I  warn't  even  thar." 

She  stood  astounded.  "Then  why  n't  ye 
leave  it  ter  men?" 

"I  can't  prove  it  ag'in'  the  murderers' 
oaths.  I  had  been  consarned  in  the  moon- 

182 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

shinin'  that  ended  in  murder,  but  I  lied  not 
been  nigh  the  still  fer  a  month, — I  war  out 
a-huntin' — when  the  revenuers  made  the  raid. 
There  war  a  scrimmage  'twixt  the  raiders  an' 
the  distillers,  an'  an  outsider  that  hed  nuthin' 
ter  do  with  the  Federal  law — he  war  the  con 
stable  o'  the  deestrick,  an'  jes  rid  with  the 
gang  ter  see  the  fun  or  ter  show  them  the 
way — he  war  killed.  An'  account  o'  Mm, 
the  State  law  kem  into  the  game.  Them 
other  moonshiners  war  captured,  an'  they 
swore  ag'in'  me  'bout  the  shootin'  ter  save 
tharselves,  but  I  hearn  thar  false  oaths  hev 
done  them  no  good,  they  being  held  as  acces 
sory.  An'  I  be  so  ez  I  can't  prove  an  alibi — 
I  can't  prove  it,  though  it's  God's  truth.  But 
before  high  heaven" — he  lifted  his  gaunt 
right  hand — "I  am  innercent,  I  am  inner- 
cent." 

She  could  not  have  said  why, — perhaps 
she  realized  afterward, — but  she  believed  him 
absolutely,  implicitly.  A  fervor  of  sympathy 
for  his  plight,  of  commiseration,  surged  up 
in  her  heart.  "I  wisht  it  war  so  I  could  gin 
ye  some  pervisions,"  she  sighed,  "though  ye 
do  'pear  toler'ble  triflin'  ter  lack  game." 

Then  the  dread  secret  was  told.    "Gal," 

183 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

• — lie  used  the  word  as  a  polite  form  of 
address,  the  equivalent  of  the  more  sophis 
ticated  "lady," — "ef  ye  will  believe  me,  all 
my  ammunition  is  spent.  Not  a  ca'tridge 
lef ',  not  a  dust  of  powder." 

Meddy  caught  both  her  hands  to  her  lips 
to  intercept  and  smother  a  cry  of  dismay. 

"I  snared  a  rabbit  two  days  ago  in  a 
dead-fall.  My  knife-blade  is  bruk,  but  I 
reckon  thar  is  enough  lef  ter  split  my  jugular 
whenst  the  eend  is  kem  at  last." 

The  girl  suddenly  caught  her  faculties  to 
gether.  "What  sorter  fool  talk  is  that!" 
she  demanded  sternly.  "Ye  do  my  bid,  ef 
ye  knows  what  's  good  f er  ye.  Git  out  'n  this 
trap  of  a  tree  an'  hide  'mongst  the  crevices 
of  the  rocks  till  seben  o  'clock  ternight.  Then 
kem  up  ter  Gran 'dad  Kettison's  whenst  it  is 
cleverly  dark  an'  tap  on  the  glass  winder — • 
not  on  the  batten  shutter.  An'  I'll  hev 
cartridges  an'  powder  an'  ball  for  ye,  an' 
some  victuals  ready,  too." 

But  the  fugitive,  despite  his  straits,  de 
murred.  "I  don't  want  ter  git  old  man  Ket- 
tison  into  trouble  for  lendin'  ter  me." 

"  'T  ain't  his'n.  'T  is  my  dad's  old  buck 
shot  ca'tridges  an'  powder  an'  ball.  They 

184 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

belong  ter  me.  The  other  childern  is  my 
half-brothers,  bein'  my  mother  war  married 
twice.  Ye  kin  steal  this  gear  from  me,  ef 
that  will  make  ye  feel  easier." 

1 '  But  what  will  y  er  gran  'dad  say  ter  me  1 ' ' 
"He  won't  know  who  ye  Be;  he  will  jes 
'low  ye  air  one  o'  the  boys  who  air  always 
foolin'  away  thar  time  visitin'  me  an' 
makin'  tallow-dips  skeerce,"  The  sudden 
gleam  of  mirth  on  her  face  was  like  an  illumi 
nating  burst  of  sunshine,  and  somehow  it 
cast  an  irradiation  into  the  heart  of  the 
fugitive,  for,  after  she  was  gone  out  of  sight, 
he  pondered  upon  it. 

But  the  early  dusk  fell  from  a  lowering 
sky,  and  the  night  came  on  beclouded  and 
dark.  Some  turbulent  spirit  was  loosed  in 
the  air,  and  the  wind  was  wild.  Great, 
surging  masses  of  purple  vapor  came  in  a 
mad  rout  from  the  dank  west  and  gathered 
above  the  massive  and  looming  mountains. 
The  woods  bent  and  tossed  and  clashed  their 
boughs  in  the  riot  of  gusts,  the  sere  leaves 
were  flying  in  clouds,  and  presently  rain  be 
gan  to  fall.  The  steady  downpour  increased 
in  volume  to  torrents ;  then  the  broad,  per 
vasive  flashes  of  lightning  showed,  in  lieu  of 

185 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

myriad  lines,  an  unbroken  veil  of  steely  gray 
swinging  from  the  zenith,  the  white  foam 
rebounding  as  the  masses  of  water  struck 
the  earth.  The  camp  equipage,  tents  and 
wagons  succumbed  beneath  the  fury  of  the 
tempest,  and,  indeed,  the  hunters  had  much 
ado  to  saddle  their  horses  and  grope  their 
way  along  the  bridle-path  that  led  to  old 
Kettison's  house. 

The  rude  comfort  of  the  interior  had  a 
heightened  emphasis  by  reason  of  the  ele 
mental  turmoils  without.  True,  the  rain 
beat  in  a  deafening  fusillade  upon  the  roof, 
and  the  ostentation  of  the  one  glass  win 
dow,  a  source  of  special  pride  to  its  owner, 
was  at  a  temporary  disadvantage  in  admit 
ting  the  fierce  and  ghastly  electric  glare,  so 
recurrent  as  to  seem  unintermittent.  But 
the  more  genial  illumination  of  hickory 
flames,  red  and  yellow,  was  streaming  from 
the  great  chimney-place,  and  before  the 
broad  hearth  the  guests  were  ensconced, 
their  outstretched  boots  steaming  in  the  heat. 
Strings  of  scarlet  peppers,  bunches  of  dried 
herbs,  gourds  of  varied  quaint  shapes,  hung 
swaying  from  the  rafters.  The  old  man's 
gay,  senile  chirp  of  welcome  was  echoed  by 

186 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

Ms  wife,  a  type  of  comely  rustic  age,  who 
made  much  of  the  fact  that,  though  house 
bound  from  "rheumatics,"  she  had  reared 
her  dead  daughter's  "two  orphin  famblies," 
the  said  daughter  having  married  twice, 
neither  man  "bein'  of  a  lastin'  quality,"  as 
she  seriously  phrased  it.  Meddy, i '  the  eldest 
fambly,"  had  been  guide,  philosopher,  and 
friend  to  the  swarm  of  youngsters,  and  even 
now,  in  the  interests  of  peace  and  space 
and  hearing,  was  seeking  to  herd  them  into 
an  adjoining  room,  when  a  sudden  stentorian 
hail  from  without  rang  through  the  splashing 
of  the  rain  from  the  eaves,  the  crash  of 
thunder  among  the  "balds"  of  the  moun 
tains,  with  its  lofty  echoes,  and  the  sonorous 
surging  of  the  wind. 

"Light  a  tallow-dip,  Meddy,'5  cried  old 
Kettison,  excitedly.  "An'  fetch  the  candle 
on  the  porch  so  ez  we-uns  kin  view  who 
rides  so  late  in  sech  a  night  'fore  we  bid  'em 
ter  light  an'  hitch." 

But  these  were  travelers  not  to  be  gain 
said — the  sheriff  of  the  county  and  four  stout 
fellows  from  the  town  of  Colbury,  summoned 
to  his  aid  as  a  posse,  all  trooping  in  as  if  they 
owned  the  little  premises.  However,  the 

187 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

officer  permitted  himself  to  unbend  a  trifle 
under  the  influence  of  a  hospitable  tender  of 
home-made  cherry-bounce,  "strong  enough 
to  walk  from  here  to  Colbury,"  according  to 
the  sheriff's  appreciative  phrase.  He  was  a 
portly  man,  with  a  rolling,  explanatory  cant 
of  his  burly  head  and  figure  toward  his  in 
terlocutor  as  he  talked.  His  hair  stood  up 
in  two  tufts  above  his  forehead,  one  on  each 
side,  and  he  had  large,  round,  grayish  eyes 
and  a  solemn,  pondering  expression.  To 
Meddy,  staring  horror-stricken,  he  seemed  as 
owlishly  wise  as  he  looked  while  he  explained 
the  object  of  his  expedition. 

'  *  This  district  have  got  a  poor  reputation 
with  the  law,  Mr.  Kettison.  Here  is  this 
fellow,  Boyston  McGurny,  been  about  here 
two  years,  and  a  reward  for  five  hundred 
dollars  out  for  his  arrest." 

"That's  Boy's  fault,  Sher'ff,  not  our'n," 
leered  the  glib  old  man.  He,  too,  had  had  a 
sip  of  the  stalwart  cherry-bounce.  "Boy's 
in  no  wise  sociable." 

"It's  plumb  flying  in  the  face  of  the 
law, ' '  declared  the  officer.  "  If  I  had  a  guide, 
I'd  not  wait  a  minute,  or  if  I  could  recognize 
the  man  whenst  I  viewed  him.  The  constable 

188 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

promised  to  send  a  fellow  to  meet  me  here, 
— what  's  his  name? — yes,  Smith,  Barton 
Smith, — who  will  guide  us  to  where  he  was 
last  glimpsed.  I  hope  to  take  him  alive," 
he  added  with  an  inflection  of  doubt. 

Certainly  this  was  a  dreary  camp-hunt, 
with  all  its  distasteful  sequelse.  Pur  cell,  who 
had  no  more  imagination  than  a  promissory 
note,  silently  sulked  under  the  officer's  inti 
mation  that,  being  able-bodied  men,  he  would 
expect  the  hunters  also  to  ride  with  him. 
They  were  not  of  his  county,  and  doubted 
their  obligation,  but  they  would  not  refuse 
to  aid  the  law.  By  grave,  however,  real 
ized  a  "story"  in  the  air,  and  Seymour  was 
interested  in  the  impending  developments; 
for  being  a  close  observer,  he  had  perceived 
that  the  girl  was  in  the  clutch  of  some 
tumultuous  though  covert  agitation.  Her 
blood  blazed  at  fever-heat  in  her  cheeks ;  her 
eyes  were  on  fire;  every  muscle  was  tense; 
and  her  brain  whirled.  To  her  the  crisis  was 
tremendous.  This  was  the  result  of  her  un 
warranted  interference.  Who  was  she,  in 
deed,  that  she  should  seek  to  command  the 
march  of  events  and  deploy  sequences  1  Her 
foolish  maneuvering  had  lured  this  innocent 

189 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

man  to  ruin,  capture,  anguish,  and  death. 
No  warning  could  he  have;  the  window  was 
opaque  with  the  corrugations  of  the  rain 
fall  on  the  streaming  panes,  and  set  too 
high  to  afford  him  a  glimpse  from  without. 
And,  oh,  how  he  would  despise  the  traitor 
that  she  must  needs  seem  to  be!  She  had 
not  a  moment  for  reflection,  for  counsel,  for 
action.  Already  the  signal, — he  was  prompt 
at  the  tryst, — the  sharp,  crystalline  vibra 
tion  of  the  tap  on  the  glass ! 

The  sheriff  rose  instantly  with  that  cum 
brous  agility  sometimes  characterizing  portly 
men.  " There  he  is  now!"  he  exclaimed. 

But  Meddy,  with  a  little  hysterical  cry, 
had  sprung  first  to  the  opening  door.  "Bar 
ton  Smith!"  she  exclaimed,  with  shrill  sig 
nificance.  "Hyar  is  yer  guide,  Sher'ff,  wet 
ez  a  drownded  r-at." 

The  pale  face  in  the  dark  aperture  of 
the  doorway,  as  the  fire-light  flashed  on  it, 
grew  ghastly  white  with  terror  and  lean  with 
amazement.  For  a  moment  the  man  seemed 
petrified.  Seymour,  vaguely  fumbling  with 
his  suspicions,  began  to  disintegrate  the  plot 
of  the  play,  and  to  discriminate  the  powers 
of  the  dramatis  personae. 

190 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

"Now,  my  man,  step  lively,"  said  the 
officer  in  his  big,  husky  voice.  "Do  you 
know  this  Eoyston  McGurny?" 

To  he  sure,  Seymour  *had  no  cause  for 
suspicion  but  his  own  intuition  and  the  intan 
gible  evidence  of  tone  and  look  all  as  obvious 
to  the  others  as  to  him.  But  he  was  at  once 
doubtful  and  relieved  when  the  haggard 
wretch  at  the  door,  mustering  his  courage, 
replied :  '  *  Know  Eoyston  McGurny  ?  None 
better.  Knowed  him  all  my  life. ' ' 

"Got  pretty  good  horse?" 

"Got  none  at  all;  expect  ter  borry  Mr. 
Kettison's." 

"  I  '11  go  show  ye  whar  the  saddle  be, ' '  ex 
claimed  Meddy,  with  her  wonted  officious- 
ness,  and  glibly  picking  up  the  bits  of  her 
shattered  scheme.  Seymour  fully  expected 
they  would  not  return  from  the  gloom  with 
out,  whither  they  had  disappeared,  but  em 
brace  the  immediate  chance  of  escape  be 
fore  the  inopportune  arrival  of  the  real  Bar 
ton  Smith  should  balk  the  possibility.  But, 
no, — and  he  doubted  anew  all  his  suspicions, 
— in  a  trice  here  they  both  were  again,  a  new 
courage,  a  new  hope  in  that  pallid,  furtive 
face,  and  another  horse  stood  saddled  among 

191 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

the  equine  group  at  the  door.  Meddlesome 
was  pinning  up  the  brown  skirt  of  her  gown, 
showing  a  red  petticoat  that  had  harmonies 
with  a  coarse,  red  plaid  shawl  adjusted  over 
her  head  and  shoulders. 

' '  Gran  'dad, "  she  observed,  never  looking 
up,  and  speaking  with  her  mouth  full  of 
pins,  "  Barton  Smith  say  he  kin  set  me  down 
at  Aunt  Drusina's  house.  Ye  know  she  be 
ailin',  an'  sent  for  me  this  evenin';  but  I  hed 
no  way  ter  go." 

The  sheriff  looked  sour  enough  at  this  in 
trusion;  but  he  doubtless  imagined  that  this 
relative  was  no  distant  neighbor,  and  as  he 
had  need  of  hearty  aid  and  popular  support, 
he  offered  no  protest. 

There  was  a  clearing  sky  without,  and 
the  wind  was  laid.  The  frenzy  of  the  storm 
was  over,  although  rain  was  still  falling. 
The  little  cavalcade  got  to  horse  deliberately 
'enough  amid  the  transparent  dun  shadows 
and  dim  yellow  flare  of  light  from  open  door 
and  window.  One  of  the  mounts,  had  burst 
a  girth,  and  a  strap  must  be  procured  from 
the  plow-gear  in  the  shed.  Another,  a  steed 
of  some  spirit,  reared  and  plunged  at  the 
lights,  and  could  not  be  induced  to  cross  the 
192 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

illuminated  bar  thrown  athwart  the  yard 
from  the  open  door.  The  official  impatience 
of  the  delay  was  expressed  in  irritable  com 
ments  and  muttered  oaths;  but  through 
out  the  interval  the  guide,  with  his  pallid, 
strained  face,  sat  motionless  in  his  saddle, 
his  rifle  across  its  pommel,  an  apt  present 
ment  of  indifference,  while,  perched  behind 
him,  Meddy  was  continually  busy  in  readjust 
ing  her  skirts  or  shawl  or  a  small  bundle  that 
presumably  contained  her  rustic  finery,  but 
which,  to  a  close  approach,  would  have  dis 
closed  the  sulphurous  odor  of  gunpowder. 
When  the  cluster  of  horsemen  was  fairly 
on  the  march,  however,  she  sat  quite  still, 
and  more  than  once  Seymour  noted  that,  with 
her  face  close  to  the  shoulder  of  the  guide, 
she  was  whispering  in  his  ear.  What  was 
their  game?  he  marvelled,  having  once  pro 
jected  the  idea  that  this  late  comer  was,  him 
self,  the  " wolf's  head"  whom  they  were  to 
chase  down  for  a  rich  reward,  incongruously 
hunting  amidst  his  own  hue  and  cry.  Or, 
Seymour  again  doubted,  had  he  merely  con 
structed  a  figment  of  a  scheme  from  his 
own  imaginings  and  these  attenuations  of 
suggestion?  For  there  seemed,  after  all, 

13  193 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

scant  communication  between  the  two,  and 
this  was  even  less  when  the  moon  was  un 
veiled,  the  shifting  shimmer  of  the  clouds 
falling  away  from  the  great  sphere  of  pearl, 
gemming  the  night  with  an  incomparable 
splendor.  It  had  grown  almost  as  light  as 
day,  and  the  sheriff  ordered  the  pace  quick 
ened.  Along  a  definite  cattle-trail  they  went 
at  first,  but  presently  they  were  following 
through  bosky  recesses  a  deer-path,  winding 
sinuously  at  will  on  the  way  to  water.  The 
thinning  foliage  let  in  the  fair,  ethereal  light, 
and  all  the  sylvan  aisles  stood  in  sheeny 
silver  illumination.  The  drops  of  moisture 
glittered  jewel-wise  on  the  dark  boughs  of 
fir  and  pine,  and  one  could  even  discriminate 
the  red  glow  of  sour-wood  and  the  golden 
flare  of  hickory,  so  well  were  the  chromatic 
harmonies  asserted  in  this  refined  and  re 
fulgent  glamour. 

"Barton  Smith!"  called  the  sheriff,  sud 
denly  from  the  rear  of  the  party.  There 
was  no  answer,  and  Seymour  felt  his  pro 
phetic  blood  run  cold.  His  conscience  began 
to  stir.  Had  he,  indeed,  no  foundation  for 
his  suspicion? 

"Smith!  Smith"  cried  the  irascible  of 
ficer.  "Hey,  there!  Is  the  man  deaf  ?" 

194 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

"Not  deef,  edzac'ly,"  Meddlesome 's  voice 
sounded  reproachfully;  "jes  a  leetle  hard  o' 
hearin'."  She  had  administered  a  warning 
nudge. 

"Hey?  What  ye  want!"  said  the 
"Wolf's  Head,"  suddenly  checking  his 
horse. 

"Have  you  any  idea  of  where  you  are 
going,  or  how  far?"  demanded  the  officer, 
sternly. 

"Just  acrost  the  gorge,"  the  guide  an 
swered  easily. 

"I  heard  he  had  been  glimpsed  in  a  hol 
low  tree.  That  word  was  telephoned  from 
the  cross-roads  to  town.  It  was  the  tree 
the  skeleton  was  in." 

"That  tree!  It's  away  ba,ck  yander," 
observed  one  of  the  posse,  reluctant  and  dis 
affected. 

"Oh,  he  has  quit  that  tree;  he  is  bound 
for  up  the  gorge  now,"  said  the  guide. 

"Well,  I  suppose  you  know,  from  what 
I  was  told,"  said  the  sheriff,  discontentedly; 
"but  this  is  a  long  ja'nt.  Eide  up!  Eide 
up!" 

Onward  they  fared  through  the  per 
fumed  woods.  The  wild  asters  were  bloom 
ing,  and  sweet  and  subtile  distillations  of 

195 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

the  autumnal  growths  were  diffused  on  the 
air.  The  deer  are  but  ill  at  road-making, — 
such  tangled  coverts,  such  clifty  ledges,  such 
wild  leaps;  for  now  the  pafli  threaded  the 
jagged  verge  of  precipices.  The  valley,  a 
black  abyss  above  which  massive,  purplish 
mountains  loomed  against  a  sky  of  pearly 
tints,  was  visibly  narrowing.  They  all  knew 
that  presently  it  would  become  a  mere  gorge, 
a  vast  indentation  in  the  mountain-side.  The 
weird  vistas  across  the  gorge  were  visible 
how,  craggy  steeps,  and  deep  woods  filled 
with  moonlight,  with  that  peculiar  untransla 
ted  intendment  which  differentiates  its 
luminosity  in  the  wilderness  from  the  lunar 
glamour  'of  cultivated  Scenes — something 
weird,  melancholy,  eloquent  of  a  meaning 
addressed  to  the  soul,  but  which  the  senses 
cannot  entertain  or  words  express. 

With  a  sudden  halt,  the  guide  dismounted. 
The  girl  still  sat  on  the  saddle-blanket,  and 
the  horse  bowed  his  head  and  pawed.  The 
posse  were  gazing  dubiously,  reluctantly,  at 
a  foot-bridge  across  a  deep  abyss.  It  was 
only  a  log,  the  upper  side  hewn,  with  a  shak 
ing  hand-rail  held  by  slight  standards. 

"Have  we  got  to  cross  this?"  asked  the 

196 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

officer,  still  in  the  saddle  and  gazing  down 
ward. 

"Ef  ye  f oiler  me,"  said  the  guide,  in 
differently. 

But  he  was  ahead  of  his  orders.  He 
visibly  braced  his  nerves  for  the  effort,  and 
holding  his  rifle  as  a  balancing-pole,  he  sped 
along  the  light  span  with  a  tread  as  deft  as  a 
fox  or  a  wolf.  In  a  moment  he  had  gained 
the  farther  side. 

They  scarcely  knew  how  it  happened.  So 
unexpected  was  the  event  that,  though  it  oc 
curred  before  their  eyes,  they  did  not  seem 
to  see  it.  They  remembered,  rather  than 
perceived,  that  he  stooped  suddenly;  with 
one  single  great  effort  of  muscular  force  he 
dislodged  the  end  of  the  log,  heaved  it  up  in 
the  air,  strongly  flung  it  aside,  whence  it 
went  crashing  down  into  the  black  depths  be 
low,  its  own  weight,  as  it  fell,  sufficing  to 
wrench  out  the  other  end,  carrying  with  it  a 
mass  of  earth  and  rock  from  the  verge  of 
the  precipice. 

The  horses  sprang  back  snorting  and 
frightened;  the  officer's,  being  a  fine  animal 
in  prime  condition,  tried  to  bolt.  Before  he 
had  him  well  in  hand  again,  the  man  on  the 

197 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

opposite  brink  had  vanished.  The  sheriff's 
suspicions  were  barely  astir  when  a  hallooing 
voice  in  the  rear  made  itself  heard,  and  a 
horseman,  breathless  with  haste,  his  steed 
flecked  with  foam,  rode  up,  indignant, 
flushed,  and  eager. 

"Whyn't  ye  wait  for  me,  Sher'ff?  Ye 
air  all  on  the  wrong  track,"  he  cried.  "Koy- 
ston  McGurny  be  hid  in  the  skellington's 
tree.  I  glimpsed  him  thar  myself,  an'  gin 
information." 

The  sheriff  gazed  down  with  averse  and 
suspicious  eyes.  "What's  all  this?"  he  said 
sternly.  "Give  an  account  of  yourself." 

"Me?"  exclaimed  the  man  in  amazement. 
"Why,  I'm  Barton  Smith,  yer  guide,  that's 
who.  An'  I'm  good  for  five  hundred  dollars' 
reward." 

But  the  sheriff  called  off  the  pursuit  for 
the  time,  as  he  had  no  means  of  replacing  the 
bridge  or  of  crossing  the  chasm. 

Meddlesome 's  share  in  the  escape  was 
not  detected,  and  for  a  while  she  had  no  in 
centive  to  the  foolhardiness  of  boasting. 
But  her  prudence  diminished  when  the  re 
ward  for  the  apprehension  of  Eoyston  Mc 
Gurny  was  suddenly  withdrawn.  The  con- 

198 


WOLF'S  HEAD 

fession  of  one  of  the  distillers,  dying  of 
tuberculosis  contracted  in  prison,  who  had 
himself  fired  the  fatal  shot,  had  established 
the  alibi  that  McGurny  claimed,  and  served 
to  relieve  him  of  all  suspicion. 

He  eventually  became  a  "  herder "  of 
cattle  on  the  bald  of  the  mountain  and  a 
farmer  in  a  small  way,  and  in  these  placid 
pursuits  he  found  a  contented  existence. 
But,  occasionally,  a  crony  of  his  olden  time 
would  contrast  the  profits  of  this  tame  in 
dustry  at  a  disadvantage  with  the  quick  and 
large  returns  of  the  "wild  cat,"  when  he 
would  "confess  and  avoid." 

"That's  true,  that's  all  true;  but  a  man 
can't  holp  it  no  ways  in  the  world  whenst 
he  hev  got  a  wife  that  is  so  out-an'-out  med 
dlesome  that  she  won't  let  him  run  ag'in' 
the  law,  nohow  he  kin  fix  it." 


199 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

The  moon  was  high  in  the  sky.  The  wind 
was  laid.  So  silent  was  the  vast  stretch  of 
mountain  wilderness,  aglint  with  the  dew, 
that  the  tinkle  of  a  rill  far  below  in  the 
black  abyss  seemed  less  a  sound  than  an  evi 
dence  of  the  pervasive  quietude,  since  so 
slight  a  thing,  so  distant,  could  compass  so 
keen  a  vibration.  For  an  hour  or  more  the 
three  men  who  lurked  in  the  shadow  of  a 
crag  in  the  narrow  mountain-pass,  heard 
nothing  else.  When  at  last  they  caught  the 
dull  reverberation  of  a  slow  wheel  and  the 
occasional  metallic  clank  of  a  tire  against 
a  stone,  the  vehicle  was  fully  three  miles  dis 
tant  by  the  winding  road  in  the  valley. 
Time  lagged.  Only  by  imperceptible  degrees 
the  sound  of  deliberate  approach  grew  louder 
on  the  air  as  the  interval  of  space  lessened. 
At  length,  above  their  ambush  at  the  summit 
of  the  mountain's  brow  the  heads  of  horses 
came  into  view,  distinct  in  the  moonlight  be 
tween  the  fibrous  pines  and  the  vast  expanse 
of  the  sky  above  the  valley.  Even  then  there 
was  renewed  delay.  The  driver  of  the 
wagon  paused  to  rest  the  team. 
200 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

The  three  lurking  men  did  not  move ;  they 
scarcely  Ventured  to  breathe.  Only  when 
there  was  no  retrograde  possible,  no  chance 
of  escape,  when  the  vehicle  was  fairly  on 
the  steep  declivity  of  the  road,  the  precipice 
sheer  on  one  side,  the  wall  of  the  ridge  rising 
perpendicularly  on  the  other,  did  two  of 
them,  both  revenue-raiders  disguised  as 
mountaineers,  step  forth  from  the  shadow. 
The  other,  the  informer,  a  genuine  moun 
taineer,  still  skulked  motionless  in  the  dark 
ness.  The  "revenuers,"  ascending  the  road, 
maintained  a  slow,  lunging  gait,  as  if  they 
had  toiled  from  far. 

Their  abrupt  appearance  had  the  effect 
of  a  galvanic  shock  to  the  man  handling  the 
reins,  a  stalwart,  rubicund  fellow,  who  visibly 
paled.  He  drew  up  so  suddenly  as  almost  to 
throw  the  horses  from  their  feet. 

"G'evenin',"  ventured  Browdie,  the  elder 
of  the  raiders,  in  a  husky  voice  affecting  an 
untutored  accent.  He  had  some  special 
ability  as  a  mimic,  and,  being  familiar  with 
the  dialect  and  manners  of  the  people,  this 
gift  greatly  facilitated  the  rustic  impersona 
tion  he  had  essayed.  "Ye 're  haulin'  late," 
he  added,  for  the  hour  was  close  to  midnight, 
201 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

"Yes,  stranger;  haulin'  late,  from  Es- 
kaqua — a  needcessity." 

"What's  yer  cargo?"  asked  Browdie, 
seeming  only  ordinarily  inquisitive. 

A  sepulchral  cadence  was  in  the  driver's 
voice,  and  the  disguised  raiders  noted  that 
the  three  other  men  on  the  wagon  had  pre 
served,  throughout,  a  solemn  silence.  "What 
we-uns  mus'  all  be  one  day,  stranger — a 
corpus." 

Browdie  was  stultified  for  a  moment. 
Then,  sustaining  his  assumed  character,  he 
said:  "I  hope  it  be  nobody  I  know.  I  be 
fairly  well  acquainted  in  Eskaqua,  though 
I  hail  from  down  in  Lonesome  Cove.  Who 
be  dead?" 

There  was  palpably  a  moment's  hesita 
tion  before  the  spokesman  replied:  "Watt 
Wyatt;  died  day  'fore  yestiddy." 

At  the  words,  one  of  the  silent  men  in 
the  wagon  turned  his  face  suddenly,  with 
such  obvious  amazement  depicted  upon  it 
that  it  arrested  the  attention  of  the  "rev- 
enuers."  This  face  was  so  individual  that 
it  was  not  likely  to  be  easily  mistaken  or 
forgotten.  A  wild,  breezy  look  it  had,  and 
a  tricksy,  incorporeal  expression  that  might 
well  befit  some  fantastic,  fabled  thing  of  the 
202 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

woods.  It  was  full  of  fine  script  of  elu 
sive  meanings,  not  registered  in  the  linea 
ments  of  the  prosaic  man  of  the  day,  though 
perchance  of  scant  utility,  not  worth  inter 
pretation.  His  full  gray  eyes  were  touched 
to  glancing  brilliancy  by  a  moonbeam;  his 
long,  fibrously  floating  brown  hair  was  thrown 
backward;  his  receding  chin  was  peculiarly 
delicate;  and  though  his  well-knit  frame  be 
spoke  a  hardy  vigor,  his  pale  cheek  was  soft 
and  thin.  All  the  rustic  grotesquery  of  garb 
and  posture  was  cancelled  by  the  deep 
shadow  of  a  bough,  and  his  delicate  face 
showed  isolated  in  the  moonlight. 

Browdie  silently  pondered  his  vague  sus 
picions  for  a  moment.  "Whar  did  he  die 
at?"  he  then  demanded  at  a  venture. 

"At  his  daddy's  house,  fur  sure.  Whar 
else?"  responded  the  driver.  "I  hev  got 
what's  lef '  of  him  hyar  in  the  coffin-box.  We 
expected  ter  make  it  ter  Shiloh  buryin'- 
ground  'fore  dark;  but  the  road  is  middlin' 
heavy,  an'  'bout  five  mile'  back  Ben  cast  a 
shoe.  The  funeral  warn't  over  much  'fore 
noon." 

"  Whyn't  they  bury  him  in  Eskaqua,  whar 
he  died?"  persisted  Browdie. 

"Waal,  they  planned  ter  bury  him  along- 

203 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

side  his  mother  an'  gran 'dad,  what  used  ter 
live  in  Tanglefoot  Cove.  But  we  air  wastin' 
time  hyar,  an'  we  hev  got  none  ter  spare. 
Gee,  Ben!  Git  up,  John!" 

The  wagon  gave  a  lurch ;  the  horses,  hold 
ing  back  in  bracing  attitudes  far  from  the 
pole,  went  teetering  down  the  steep  slant,  the 
locked  wheel  dragging  heavily ;  the  four  men 
sat  silent,  two  in  slouching  postures  at  the 
head  of  the  coffin ;  the  third,  with  the  driver, 
was  at  its  foot.  It  seemed  drearily  sugges 
tive,  the  last  journey  of  this  humble  mor 
tality,  in  all  the  splendid  environment  of  the 
mountains,  under  the  vast  expansions  of  the 
aloof  skies,  in  the  mystic  light  of  the  iinnot- 
ing  moon. 

"Is  this  bona-fide?"  asked  Browdie,  with 
a  questioning  glance  at  the  informer,  who 
had  at  length  crept  forth. 

"I  dunno,"  sullenly  responded  the  moun 
taineer.  He  had  acquainted  the  two  officers, 
who  were  of  a  posse  of  revenue-raiders 
hovering  in  the  vicinity,  with  the  mysterious 
circumstance  that  a  freighted  wagon  now 
and  then  made  a  midnight  transit  across 
these  lonely  ranges.  He  himself  had  heard 
only  occasionally  in  a  wakeful  hour  the  roll 

204 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

of  heavy  wheels,  but  he  interpreted  this  as 
the  secret  transportation  of  brush  whisky 
from  the  still  to  its  market.  He  had  thought 
to  fix  the  transgression  on  an  old  enemy  of 
his  own,  long  suspected  of  moonshining;  but 
he  was  acquainted  with  none  of  the  young 
sters  on  the  wagon,  at  whom  He  had  peered 
cautiously  from  behind  the  rocks.  His  actu 
ating  motive  in  giving  information  to  the 
emissaries  of  the  government  had  been  the 
rancor  of  an  old  feud,  and  his  detection 
meant  certain  death.  He  had  not  expected 
the  revenue-raiders  to  be  outnumbered  by  the 
supposed  moonshiners,  and  he  would  not 
fight  in  the  open.  He  had  no  sentiment  of 
fealty  to  the  law,  and  the  officers  glanced  at 
each  other  in  uncertainty. 

"This  evidently  is  not  the  wagon  in  ques 
tion,"  said  Browdie,  disappointed. 

"I'll  follow  them  a  bit,"  volunteered 
Eonan,  the  younger  and  the  more  active  of 
the  two  officers.  "Seems  to  me  they'll  bear 
watching." 

Indeed,  as  the  melancholy  cortege  fared 
down  and  down  the  steep  road,  dwindling 
in  the  sheeny  distance,  the  covert  and  half- 
suppressed  laughter  of  the  sepulchral  escort 

205 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

v. 

was  of  so  keen  a  relish  that  it  was  well  that 
the  scraping  of  the  locked  wheel  aided  the 
distance  to  mask  the  incongruous  sound. 

"What  ailed  you-uns  ter  name  me  as  the 
corpus,  'Gene  Barker!"  demanded  "Walter 
Wyatt,  when  he  had  regained  the  capacity 
of  coherent  speech. 

"Oh,  I  hed  ter  do  suddint  murder  on 
somebody,"  declared  the  driver,  all  bluff  and 
reassured  and  red-faced  again,  "an'  I 
couldn't  think  quick  of  nobody  else.  Be 
sides,  I  helt  a  grudge  ag'in'  you  fer  not 
stuffin'  mo'  straw  'twixt  them  jimmyjohns 
in  the  coffin-box." 

"That's  a  fac'.  Ye  air  too  triflin'  ter 
be  let  ter  live,  Watt,"  cried  one  of  their  com 
rades.  "I  hearn  them  jugs  clash  tergether 
in  the  coffin-box  when  'Gene  checked  the 
team  up  suddint,  I  tell  you.  An'  them  men 
sure  'peared  ter  me  powerful  suspectin'." 

"I  hearn  the  clash  of  them  jimmyjohns," 
chimed  in  the  driver.  "I  really  thunk  my 
hour  war  come.  Some  informer  must  hev 
set  them  men  ter  spyin'  round  fer  moon 
shine." 

"Oh,  surely  nobody  wouldn't  dare," 
urged  one  of  the  group,  uneasily;  for  the 

206 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

identity  of  an  informer  was  masked  in 
secrecy,  and  his  fate,  when  discovered,  was 
often  gruesome. 

"They  couldn't  hev  noticed  the  clash  of 
them  jimmyjohns,  nohow,"  declared  the 
negligent  Watt,  nonchalantly.  "But  namin' 
me  fur  the  dead  one!  Supposin'  they  air 
revenuers  fur  true,  an'  hed  somebody  along, 
hid  out  in  the  bresh,  ez  war  acquainted  with 
me  by  sight " 

"Then  they'd  hev  been  skeered  out'n  thar 
boots,  that's  all,"  interrupted  the  self-suf 
ficient  'Gene.  "They  would  hev  'lowed  they 
hed  viewed  yer  brazen  ghost,  bold  ez  brass, 
standin'  at  the  head  of  yer  own  coffin-box." 

"Or  mebbe  they  mought  hev  recognized 
the  Wyatt  favor,  ef  they  warn't  acquainted 
with  me"  persisted  Watt,  with  his  unique 
sense  of  injury. 

Eugene  Barker  defended  the  temerity 
of  his  inspiration.  "They  would  hev  jes 
thought  ye  war  kin  ter  the  deceased,  an'  at- 
tendin'  him  ter  his  long  home." 

"  'Gene  don't  keer  much  fur  ye  ter  be 
alive  nohow,  Watt  Wyatt, ' '  one  of  the  others 
suggested  tactlessly,  "  'count  o'  Minta  Ella- 
dine  Biggs." 

207 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

Eugene  Barker's  off-hand  phrase  was  in 
congruous  with  his  sudden  gravity  and  his 
evident  rancor  as  he  declared:  "I  ain't 
carin'  fur  sech  ez  Watt  Wyatt.  An'  they  do 
say  in  the  cove  that  Minta  Elladine  Biggs 
hev  gin  him  the  mitten,  anyhow,  on  account 
of  his  gamesome  ways,  playin'  kyerds,  a-bet- 
tin'  his  money,  drinkin'  apple-jack,  an'  sech." 

The  newly  constituted  ghost  roused  him 
self  with  great  vitality  as  if  to  retort  flout 
ingly;  but  as  he  turned,  his  jaw  suddenly  fell ; 
his  eyes  widened  with  a  ghastly  distension. 
With  an  unsteady  arm  extended  he  pointed 
silently.  Distinctly  outlined  on  the  lid  of 
the  coffin  was  the  simulacrum  of  the  figure  of 
a  man. 

One  of  his  comrades,  seated  on  the  tail 
board  of  the  wagon,  had  discerned  a  sig 
nificance  in  the  abrupt  silence.  As  he 
turned,  he,  too,  caught  a  fleeting  glimpse  of 
that  weird  image  on  the  coffin-lid.  But  he 
was  of  a  more  mundane  pulse.  The  appari 
tion  roused  in  him  only  a  wonder  whence 
could  come  this  shadow  in  the  midst  of  the 
moon-flooded  road.  He  lifted  his  eyes  to  the 
verge  of  the  bluff  above,  and  there  he  de 
scried  an  indistinct  human  form,  which  sud- 

208 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

denly  disappeared  as  lie  looked,  and  at  that 
moment  the  simulacrum  vanished  from  the 
lid  of  the  box. 

The  mystery  was  of  instant  elucidation. 
They  were  suspected,  followed.  The  num 
ber  of  their  pursuers  of  course  they  could 
not  divine,  but  at  least  one  of  the  revenue- 
officers  had  trailed  the  wagon  between  the 
precipice  and  the  great  wall  of  the  ascent 
on  the  right,  which  had  gradually  dwindled 
to  a  diminished  height.  Deep  gullies  were 
here  and  there  washed  out  by  recent  rains, 
and  one  of  these  indentations  might  have 
afforded  an  active  man  access  to  the  sum 
mit.  Thus  the  pursuer  had  evidently  kept 
abreast  of  them,  speeding  along  in  great 
leaps  through  the  lush  growth  of  huckleberry 
bushes,  wild  grasses,  pawpaw  thickets,  sil 
vered  by  the  moon,  all  fringing  the  great 
forests  that  had  given  way  on  the  shelving 
verge  of  the  steeps  where  the  road  ran.  Had 
he  overheard  their  unguarded,  significant 
words  ?  Who  could  divine,  so  silent  were  the 
windless  mountains,  so  deep  a-dream  the 
darksome  woods,  so  spellbound  the  mute  and 
mystic  moonlight? 

The  group   maintained  a   cautious   reti- 

14  209 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

cence  now,  each  revolving  the  problematic 
disclosure  of  their  secret,  each  canvassing 
the  question  whether  the  pursuer  himself 
was  aware  of  his  betrayal  of  his  stealthy 
proximity.  Not  till  they  had  reached  the 
ford  of  the  river  did  they  venture  on  a 
low-toned  colloquy.  The  driver  paused  in 
midstream  and  stepped  out  on  the  pole  be 
tween  the  horses  to  let  down  the  check-reins, 
as  the  team  manifested  an  inclination  to 
drink  in  transit ;  and  thence,  as  he  stood  thus 
perched,  he  gazed  to  and  fro,  the  stretch  of 
dark  and  lustrous  ripples  baffling  all 
approach  within  ear-shot,  the  watering  of  the 
horses  justifying  the  pause  and  cloaking  its 
significance  to  any  distant  observer. 

But  the  interval  was  indeed  limited;  the 
mental  processes  of  such  men  are  devoid  of 
complexity,  and  their  decisions  prompt. 
They  advanced  few  alternatives ;  their  prime 
object  was  to  be  swiftly  rid  of  the  coffin  and 
its  inculpating  contents,  and  with  the  "rev- 
enuer"  so  hard  on  their  heels  this  might 
seem  a  troublous  problem  enough. 

"Put  it  whar  a  coffin  b 'longs — in  the 
churchyard, ' '  said  Wyatt ;  for'  at  a  consider 
able  distance  beyond  the  rise  of  the  opposite 
210 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

bank  could  be  seen  a  barren  clearing  in  which 
stood  a  gaunt,  bare,  little  white  frame  build 
ing  that  served  all  the  country-side  for  its  in 
frequent  religious  services. 

"We  couldn't  dig  a  grave  before  that 
spy — ef  he  be  a  revenuer  sure  enough — 
could  overhaul  us,"  Eugene  Barker  objected. 

"We  could  turn  the  yearth  right  smart, 
though,"  persisted  Wyatt,  for  pickax  and 
shovel  had  been  brought  in  the  wagon  for 
the  sake  of  an  aspect  of  verisimilitude  and  to 
mask  their  true  intent. 

Eugene  Barker  acceded  to  this  view. 
"That's  the  dinctum — dig  a  few  jes  fer  a 
blind.  We  kin  slip  the  coffin-box  under  the 
church-house  'fore  he  gits  in  sight, — he'll 
be  feared  ter  follow  too  close, — an'  leave  it 
thar  till  the  other  boys  kin  wagon  it  ter  the 
cross-roads'  store  ter-morrer  night." 

The  horses,  hitherto  held  to  the  sober  gait 
of  funeral  travel,  were  now  put  to  a  speedy 
trot,  unmindful  of  whatever  impression  of 
flight  the  pace  might  give  to  the  revenue- 
raider  in  pursuit.  The  men  were  soon  en 
grossed  in  their  deceptive  enterprise  in  the 
churchyard,  plying  pickax  and  shovel  for 
dear  life;  now  and  again  they  paused  to 
211 


HIS  UNQUIET,  GHOST 

listen  vainly  for  the  sound  of  stealthy  ap 
proach.  They  knew  that  there  was  the  most 
precarious  and  primitive  of  foot-bridges 
across  the  deep  stream,  to  traverse  which 
would  cost  an  unaccustomed  wayfarer  both 
time  and  pains;  thus  the  interval  was  con 
siderable  before  the  resonance  of  rapid  foot 
falls  gave  token  that  their  pursuer  had  found 
himself  obliged  to  sprint  smartly  along  the 
country  road  to  keep  any  hope  of  ever  again 
viewing  the  wagon  which  the  intervening 
water-course  had  withdrawn  from  his  sight. 
That  this  hope  had  grown  tenuous  was  evi 
dent  in  his  relinquishment  of  his  former  cau 
tion,  for  when  they  again  caught  a  glimpse 
of  him  he  was  forging  along  in  the  middle  of 
the  road  without  any  effort  at  concealment. 
But  as  the  wagon  appeared  in  the  perspec 
tive,  stationary,  hitched  to  the  hedge  of  the 
graveyard,  he  recurred  to  his  previous 
methods.  The  four  men  still  within  the  in- 
closure,  now  busied  in  shovelling  the  earth 
back  again  into  the  excavation  they  had  so 
swiftly  made,  covertly  watched  him  as  he 
skulked  into  the  shadow  of  the  wayside.  The 
little  "church-house,"  with  all  its  windows 
whitely  aglare  in  the  moonlight,  reflected  the 

212 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

pervasive  sheen,  and  silent,  spectral,  remote, 
it  seemed  as  if  it  might  well  harbor  at  times 
its  ghastly  neighbors  from  the  quiet  ceme 
tery  without,  dimly  ranging  themselves  once 
more  in  the  shadowy  ranks  of  its  pews  or 
grimly  stalking  down  the  drear  and  deserted 
aisles.  The  fact  that  the  rising  ground 
toward  the  rear  of  the  building  necessitated 
a  series  of  steps  at  the  entrance,  enabled  the 
officer  to  mask  behind  this  tall  flight  his 
crouching  approach,  and  thus  he  ensconced 
himself  in  the  angle  between  the  wall  and 
the  steps,  and  looked  forth  in  fancied 
security. 

The  shadows  multiplied  the  tale  of  the 
dead  that  the  head-boards  kept,  each  simili 
tude  askew  in  the  moonlight  on  the  turf  below 
the  slanting  monument.  To  judge  by  the 
motions  of  the  men  engaged  in  the  burial  and 
the  mocking  antics  of  their  silhouettes  on 
the  ground,  it  must  have  been  obvious  to  the 
spectator  that  they  were  already  filling  in  the 
earth.  The  interment  may  have  seemed  to  him 
suspiciously  swift,  but  the  possibility  was 
obvious  that  the  grave  might  have  been  pre 
viously  dug  in  anticipation  of  their  arrival. 
It  was  plain  that  he  was  altogether  unpre- 

213 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

pared  for  the  event  when  they  came  slouch 
ing  forth  to  the  wagon,  and  the  stalwart  and 
red-faced  driver,  with  no  manifestation  of 
surprise,  hailed  him  as  he  still  crouched  in 
his  lurking-place.  " Hello,  stranger!  Warn't 
that  you-uns  runnin'  arter  the  wagon  a  piece 
back  yonder  jes  a  while  ago?" 

The  officer  rose  to  his  feet,  with  an  in 
tent  look  both  dismayed  and  embarrassed. 
He  did  not  venture  on  speech;  he  merely  ac 
ceded  with  a  nod. 

"Ye  want  a  lift,  I  reckon. " 

The  stranger  was  hampered  by  the  in 
congruity  between  his  rustic  garb,  common 
to  the  coves,  and  his  cultivated  intonation; 
for,  unlike  his  comrade  Browdie,  he  had  no 
mimetic  faculties  whatever.  Nevertheless, 
he  was  now  constrained  to  "face  the  music." 

"I  didn't  want  to  interrupt  you,"  he  said, 
seeking  such  excuse  as  due  consideration  for 
the  circumstances  might  afford;  "but  I'd  like 
to  ask  where  I  could  get  lodging  for  the 
night." 

"What's  yer  name?"  demanded  Barker, 
unceremoniously. 

"Francis  Eonan,"  the  raider  replied, 
with  more  assurance.  Then  he  added,  by, 

214 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

way  of  explaining  his  necessity,  "I'm  a 
stranger  hereabouts." 

"Ye  air  so,"  assented  the  sarcastic 
'Gene.  "Ye  ain't  even  acquainted  with  yer 
own  clothes.  Ye  be  a  town  man." 

"Well,  I'm  not  the  first  man  who  has 
had  to  hide  out,"  Eonan  parried,  seeking 
to  justify  his  obvious  disguise. 

"Shot  somebody?"  asked  'Gene,  with  an 
apparent  accession  of  interest. 

"It's  best  for  me  not  to  tell." 

"So  be."  'Gene  acquiesced  -easily. 
"Waal,  ef  ye  kin  put  up  with  sech  accom 
modations  ez  our'n,  I'll  take  ye  home  with 
me." 

Eonan  stood  aghast.  But  there  was  no 
door  of  retreat  open.  He  was  alone  and 
helpless.  He  could  not  conceal  the  fact  that 
the  turn  affairs  had  taken  was  equally  unex 
pected  and  terrifying  to  him,  and  the  moon 
shiners,  keenly  watchful,  were  correspond 
ingly  elated  to  discern  that  he  Had  surely  no 
reinforcements  within  reach  to  nerve  him  to 
resistance  or  to  menace  their  liberty.  He 
had  evidently  followed  them  too  far,  too  reck 
lessly;  perhaps  without  the  consent  and 
against  the  counsel  of  his  comrades,  per- 

215 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

haps  even  without  their  knowledge   of  his 
movements  and  intention. 

Now  and  again  as  the  wagon  jogged  on 
and  on  toward  their  distant  haven,  the  moon 
light  gradually  dulling  to  dawn,  Wyatt  gave 
the  stranger  a  wondering,  covert  glance, 
vaguely,  shrinkingly  curious  as  to  the  senti 
ments  of  a  man  vacillating  between  the  sus 
picion  of  capture  and  the  recognition  of  a 
simple  hospitality  without  significance  or 
danger.  The  man's  face  appealed  to  him, 
young,  alert,  intelligent,  earnest,  and  the 
anguish  of  doubt  and  anxiety  it  expressed 
went  to  his  heart.  In  the  experience  of  his 
sylvan  life  as  a  hunter  Wyatt 's  peculiar  and 
subtle  temperament  evolved  certain  fine-spun 
distinctions  which  were  unique;  a  trapped 
thing  had  a  special  appeal  to  his  commisera 
tion  that  a  creature  ruthlessly  slaughtered 
in  the  open  was  not  privileged  to  claim.  He 
did  not  accurately  and  in  words  discriminate 
the  differences,  but  he  felt  that  the  captive 
had  sounded  all  the  gamut  of  hope  and  de 
spair,  shared  the  gradations  of  an  appreciated 
sorrow  that  makes  all  souls  akin  and  that 
even  lifts  the  beast  to  the  plane  of  brother 
hood,  the  bond  of  emotional  woe.  He  had 

216 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

often  with  no  other  or  better  reason  liberated 
the  trophy  of  his  snare,  calling  after  the 
amazed  and  franticly  fleeing  creature, 
"Bye-bye,  Buddy!"  with  peals  of  his  whim 
sical,  joyous  laughter. 

He  was  experiencing  now  a  similar  se 
quence  of  sentiments  in  noting  the  wild-eyed 
eagerness  with  which  the  captured  raider 
took  obvious  heed  of  every  minor  point  of 
worthiness  that  might  mask  the  true  char 
acter  of  his  entertainers.  But,  indeed,  these 
deceptive  hopes  might  have  been  easily  main 
tained  by  one  not  so  desirous  of  reassurance 
when,  in  the  darkest  hour  before  the  dawn, 
they  reached  a  large  log-cabin  sequestered 
in  dense  woods,  and  he  found  himself  an  in 
mate  of  a  simple,  typical  mountain  house 
hold.  It  held  an  exceedingly  venerable 
grandfather,  wielding  his  infirmities  as  a  rod 
of  iron;  a  father  and  mother,  hearty,  hos 
pitable,  subservient  to  the  aged  tyrant,  but 
keeping  in  filial  check  a  family  of  sons  and 
daughters-in-law,  with  an  underfoot  delega 
tion  of  grandchildren,  who  seemed  to  spend 
their  time  in  a  bewildering  manoeuver  of 
dashing  out  at  one  door  to  dash  in  at  an 
other.  A  tumultuous  rain  had  set  in  shortly 

217 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

after  dawn,  with  lightning  and  wind, — "the 
tail  of  a  harricane,"  as  the  host  called  it, — 
and  a  terrible  bird  the  actual  storm  must 
have  been  to  have  a  tail  of  such  dimensions. 
There  was  no  getting  forth,  no  living  creat 
ure  of  free  will  "took  water"  in  this  ele 
mental  crisis.  The  numerous  dogs  crowded 
the  children  away  from  the  hearth,  and  the 
hens  strolled  about  the  large  living-room, 
clucking  to  scurrying  broods.  Even  one  of 
the  horses  tramped  up  on  the  porch  and 
looked  in  ever  and  anon,  solicitous  of  human 
company. 

"I  brung  Ben  up  by  hand,  like  a  bottle- 
fed  baby,"  the  hostess  apologized,  "an'  he 
ain't  never  fund  out  fur  sure  that  he  ain't 
folks." 

There  seemed  no  possible  intimation  of 
moonshine  in  this  entourage,  and  the  coffin 
filled  with  jugs,  a-wagoning  from  some  dis 
tillers'  den  in  the  range  to  the  cross-roads' 
store,  might  well  have  been  accounted  only 
the  vain  phantasm  of  an  overtired  brain  sur 
charged  with  the  vexed  problems  of  the  rev 
enue  service.  The  disguised  revenue-raider 
was  literally  overcome  with  drowsiness, 
the  result  of  his  exertions  and  his  vigils, 

218 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

and  observing  this,  his  host  gave  him 
one  of  the  big  feather  beds  under  the  low 
slant  of  the  eaves  in  the  roof-room,  where 
the  other  men,  who  had  been  out  all  night, 
also  slept  the  greater  portion  of  the  day.  In 
fact,  it  was  dark  when  Wyatt  wakened,  and, 
leaving  the  rest  still  torpid  with  slumber  and 
fatigue,  descended  to  the  large  main  room  of 
the  cabin. 

The  callow  members  of  the  household  had 
retired  to  rest,  but  the  elders  of  the  band  of 
moonshiners  were  up  and  still  actively  astir, 
and  Wyatt  experienced  a  prescient  vicarious 
qualm  to  note  their  lack  of  heed  or  secrecy — 
the  noisy  shifting  of  heavy  weights  (barrels, 
kegs,  bags  of  apples,  and  peaches  for 
pomace),  the  loud  voices  and  unguarded 
words.  When  a  door  in  the  floor  was  lifted, 
the  whiff  of  chill,  subterranean  air  that  per 
vaded  the  whole  house  was  heavily  freighted 
with  spirituous  odors,  and  gave  token  to  the 
meanest  intelligence,  to  the  most  unobservant 
inmate,  that  the  still  was  operated  in  a  cellar, 
peculiarly  immune  to  suspicion,  for  a  cellar  is 
never  an  adjunct  to  the  ordinary  mountain 
cabin.  Thus  the  infraction  of  the  revenue 
law  went  on  securely  and  continuously  be- 

219 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

neath  the  placid,  simple,  domestic  life,  with 
its  reverent  care  for  the  very  aged  and  its 
tender  nurture  of  the  very  young. 

It  was  significant,  indeed,  that  the  industry 
should  not  be  pretermitted,  however,  when  a 
stranger  was  within  the  gates.  The  reason 
to  Wyatt,  familiar  with  the  moonshiners' 
methods  and  habits  of  thought,  was  only  too 
plain.  They  intended  that  the  "revenuer" 
should  never  go  forth  to  tell  the  tale.  His 
comrades  had  evidently  failed  to  follow  his 
trail,  either  losing  it  in  the  wilderness  or 
from  ignorance  of  his  intention.  He  had 
put  himself  hopelessly  into  the  power  of  these 
desperate  men,  whom  his  escape  or  liberation 
would  menace  with  incarceration  for  a  long 
term  as  Federal  prisoners  in  distant"  peniten 
tiaries,  if,  indeed,  they  were  not  already  an 
swerable  to  the  law  for  some  worse  crime 
than  illicit  distilling.  His  murder  would  be 
the  extreme  of  brutal  craft,  so  devised  as  to 
seem  an  accident,  against  the  possibility  of 
future  investigation. 

The  reflection  turned  Wyatt  deathly  cold, 
he  who  could  not  bear  unmoved  the  plea  of 
a  wild  thing's  eye.  He  sturdily  sought  to 
pull  himself  together.  It  was  none  of  his 

220 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

decree;  it  was  none  of  his  deed,  he  argued. 
The  older  moonshiners,  who  managed  all 
the  details  of  the  enterprise,  would  direct 
the  event  with  absolute  authority  and  the 
immutability  of  fate.  But  whatever  should 
be  done,  he  revolted  from  any  knowledge  of 
it,  as  from  any  share  in  the  act.  He  had 
risen  to  leave  the  place,  all  strange  of  aspect 
now,  metamorphosed, — various  disorderly 
details  of  the  prohibited  industry  ever  and 
anon  surging  up  from  the  still-room  below, — 
when  a  hoarse  voice  took  cognizance  of  his 
intention  with  a  remonstrance. 

"Why,  Watt  Wyatt,  ye  can't  go  out  in 
the  cove.  Ye  air  dead!  Ye  will  let  that 
t'other  revenue-raider  ye  seen  into  the  se 
cret  o'  the  bresh  whisky  in  our  wagon  ef  ye 
air  viewed  about  whenst  'Gene  hev  spread 
the  report  that  ye  air  dead.  Wait  till  them 
raiders  hev  cleared  out  of  the  kentry." 

The  effort  at  detention,  to  interfere  with 
his  liberty,  added  redoubled  impetus  to 
Wyatt 's  desire  to  be  gone.  He  suddenly  de 
vised  a  cogent  necessity.  "I  be  feared  my 
dad  mought  hear  that  fool  tale.  I  ain't  much 
loss,  but  dad  would  feel  it." 

"Oh,  I  sent  Jack  thar  ter  tell  him  bet- 
221 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

ter  whenst  he  drove  ter  mill  ter-day  ter  git 
the  meal  fer  the  mash.  Jack  made  yer  dad 
onderstand  'bout  yer  sudden  demise." 

"Oh,  yeh,"  interposed  the  glib  Jack;  "an' 
he  said  ez  he  couldn't  abide  sech  jokes." 

'  *  Shucks ! ' '  cried  the  filial  Wyatt.  ' '  Dad 
war  full  fresky  himself  in  his  young  days; 
I  hev  hearn  his  old  frien's  say  so." 

"I  tried  ter  slick  things  over,"  said  the 
diplomatic  Jack.  "I  'lowed  young  folks  war 
giddy  by  nature.  I  'lowed  't  war  jes  a  flash 
o'  fun.  An'  he  say:  'Flash  o'  fun  be  con- 
sarned!  My  son  is  more  like  a  flash  o'  light 
ning;  ez  suddint  an'  mischeevious  an'  totally 
ondesirable.'  " 

The  reproach  obviously  struck  home,  for 
Wyatt  maintained  a  disconsolate  silence  for 
a  time.  At  length,  apparently  goaded  by  his 
thoughts  to  attempt  a  defense,  he  remon 
strated  : 

"Nobody  ever  war  dead  less  of  his  own 
free  will.  I  never  elected  ter  be  a  frarnt. 
'Gene  Barker  hed  no  right  ter  nominate  me 
fer  the  dear  departed,  nohow." 

One  of  the  uncouth  younger  fellows,  his 
shoulders  laden  with  a  sack  of  meal,  paused 
on  his  way  from  the  porch  to  the  trap-door 
222 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

to  look  up  from  beneath  his  burden  with  a 
sly  grin  as  he  said,  "  'Gene  war  wishin'  it 
war  true,  that's  why." 

"  'Count  o'  Minta  Elladine  Biggs,"  gaily 
chimed  in  another. 

"But  'Gene  needn't  gredge  Watt  foot 
hold  on  this  yearth  fer  sech;  she  ain't  keerin' 
whether  Watt  lives  or  dies,"  another  con 
tributed  to  the  rough,  rallying  fun. 

But  Wyatt  was  of  sensitive  fibre.  He 
had  flushed  angrily;  his  eyes  were  alight;  a 
bitter  retort  was  trembling  on  his  lips  when 
one  of  the  elder  Barkers,  discriminating  the 
elements  of  an  uncontrollable  fracas,  seized 
on  the  alternative. 

"Could  you-uns  sure  be  back  hyar  by  day 
break,  Watt?"  he  asked,  fixing  the  young 
fellow  with  a  stern  eye. 

"No  'spectable  ghost  roams  around  arter 
sun-up,"  cried  Wyatt,  fairly  jovial  at  the 
prospect  of  liberation. 

"Ye  mus'  be  heedful  not  ter  be  viewed," 
the  senior  admonished  him. 

"I  be  goin'  ter  slip  about  keerful  like  a 
reg'lar,  stiddy-goin'  harnt,  an'  eavesdrop  a 
bit.  It's  worth  livin'  a  hard  life  ter  view 
how  a  feller's  friends  will  take  his  demise." 

223 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

"I  reckon  ye  kin  make  out  ter  meet  the 
wagin  kemin'  back  from  the  cross-roads' 
store.  It  went  out  this  evenin'  with  that 
coffin  full  of  jugs  that  ye  lef '  las'  night  under 
the  church-house,  whenst  'Gene  seen  you-uns 
war  suspicioned.  They  will  hev  time  ter  git 
ter  the  cross-roads  with  the  whisky  on'  back 
little  arter  midnight,  special'  ez  we-uns  hev 
got  the  raider  that  spied  out  the  job  hyar  fast 
by  the  leg." 

The  mere  m*  aon  of  the  young  prisoner 
rendered  Wyatt  the  more  eager  to  be  gone, 
to  be  out  of  sight  and  sound.  But  he  had 
no  agency  in  the  disaster,  he  urged  against 
some  inward  clamor  of  protest;  the  catas 
trophe  was  the  logical  result  of  the  fool- 
hardiness  of  the  officer  in  following  these 
desperate  men  with  no  backing,  with  no 
power  to  apprehend  or  hold,  relying  on  his 
flimsy  disguise,  and  risking  delivering  him 
self  into  their  hands,  fettered  as  he  was  with 
the  knowledge  of  his  discovery  of  their 
secret. 

"It's  nothin'  ter  me,  nohow,"  Wyatt  was 
continually  repeating  to  himself,  though 
when  he  sprang  through  the  door  he  could 
scarcely  draw  his  breath  because  of  some 
mysterious,  invisible  clutch  at  his  throat. 

224 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

He  sought  to  ascribe  this  symptom  to  the 
density  of  the  pervasive  fog  without,  that 
impenetrably  cloaked  all  the  world;  one 
might  wonder  how  a  man  could  find  his  way 
through  the  opaque  white  vapor.  It  was, 
however,  an  accustomed  medium  to  the  young 
mountaineer,  and  his  feet,  too,  had  something 
of  that  unclassified  muscular  instinct,  apart 
from  reason,  which  guides  in  an  oft-trodden 
path.  Once  he  came  to  a  halt,  from  no  un 
certainty  of  locality,  but  to  gaze  apprehen 
sively  through  the  blank,  white  mists  over  a 
shuddering  shoulder.  "I  wonder  ef  thar  be 
any  other  harnts  aloose  ter-night,  a-boguing 
through  the  fog  an'  the  moon,"  he  specu 
lated.  Presently  he  went  on  again,  shaking 
his  head  sagely.  "I  ain't  wantin'  ter  col 
logue  with  sech,"  he  averred  cautiously. 

Occasionally  the  moonlight  fell  in  expan 
sive  splendor  through  a  rift  in  the  white 
vapor;  amidst  the  silver  glin tings  a  vague, 
illusory  panorama  of  promontory  and  island, 
bay  and  inlet,  far  ripplings  of  gleaming 
deeps,  was  presented  like  some  magic  rem 
iniscence,  some  ethereal  replica  of  the  past, 
the  simulacrum  of  the  seas  of  these  ancient 
coves,  long  since  ebbed  away  and  vanished. 

15  225 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

The  sailing  moon  visibly  rocked,  as  the 
pulsing  tides  of  the  cloud-ocean  rose  and 
fell,  and  ever  and  anon  this  supernal  craft 
was  whelmed  in  its  surgings,  and  once  more 
came  majestically  into  view,  freighted  with 
fancies  and  heading  for  the  haven  of  the  pur 
ple  western  shores. 

In  one  of  these  clearances  of  the  mists  a 
light  of  an  alien  type  caught  the  eye  of  the 
wandering  spectre — a  light,  red,  mundane,  of 
prosaic  suggestion.  It  filtered  through  the 
crevice  of  a  small  batten  shutter. 

The  ghost  paused,  his  head  speculatively 
askew.  "Who  sits  so  late  at  the  forge?"  he 
marvelled,  for  he  was  now  near  the  base  of 
the  mountain,  and  he  recognized  the  low, 
dark  building  looming  through  the  mists, 
its  roof  aslant,  its  chimney  cold,  the  big 
doors  closed,  the  shutter  fast.  As  he  neared 
the  place  a  sudden  shrill  guffaw  smote  the 
air,  followed  by  a  deep,  gruff  tone  of  discon 
certed  remonstrance.  Certain  cabalistic 
words  made  the  matter  plain. 

"High,  Low,  Jack,  and  game!  Fork! 
Fork!"  Once  more  there  arose  a  high 
falsetto  shriek  of  jubilant  laughter. 

Walter  Wyatt  crept  noiselessly  down  the 

226 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

steep  slant  toward  the  shutter.  He  had  no 
sense  of  intrusion,  for  he  was  often  one  of 
the  merry  blades  wont  to  congregate  at  the 
forge  at  night  and  take  a  hand  at  cards,  de 
spite  the  adverse  sentiment  of  the  cove  and 
the  vigilance  of  the  constable  of  the  district, 
bent  on  enforcing  the  laws  prohibiting  gam 
ing.  As  Wyatt  stood  at  the  crevice  of  the 
shutter  the  whole  interior  was  distinct  before 
him — the  disabled  wagon-wheels  against  the 
walls,  the  horse-shoes  on  a  rod  across  the 
window,  the  great  hood  of  the  forge,  the 
silent  bellows,  with  its  long,  motionless 
handle.  A  kerosene  lamp,  perched  on  the 
elevated  hearth  of  the  forge,  illumined  the 
group  of  wild  young  mountaineers  clustered 
about  a  barrel  on  the  head  of  which  the  cards 
were  dealt.  There  were  no  chairs;  one  of 
the  gamesters  sat  on  a  keg  of  nails ;  another 
on  an  inverted  splint  basket;  two  on  a  rude 
bench  that  was  wont  to  be  placed  outside  the 
door  for  the  accommodation  of  customers 
waiting  for  a  horse  to  be  shod  or  a  plow  to 
be  laid.  An  onlooker,  not  yet  so  proficient 
as  to  attain  his  ambition  of  admission  to 
the  play,  had  mounted  the  anvil,  and  from 
this  coign  of  vantage  beheld  all  the  outspread 

227 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

landscape  of  the  " hands."  More  than  once 
his  indiscreet,  inadvertent  betrayal  of  some 
incident  of  his  survey  of  the  cards  menaced 
him  with  a  broken  head.  More  innocuous  to 
the  interests  of  the  play  was  a  wight  humbly 
ensconced  on  the  shoeing-stool,  which  barely 
brought  his  head  to  the  level  of  the  board; 
but  as  he  was  densely  ignorant  of  the  game, 
he  took  no  disadvantage  from  his  lowly  post 
ure.  His  head  was  red,  and  as  it  moved 
erratically  about  in  the  gloom,  Watt  Wyatt 
thought  for  a  moment  that  it  was  the  smith's 
red  setter.  He  grinned  as  he  resolved  that 
some  day  he  would  tell  the  fellow  this  as  a 
pleasing  gibe;  but  the  thought  was  arrested 
by  the  sound  of  his  own  name. 

"Waal,  sir,"  said  the  dealer,  pausing  in 
shuffling  the  cards,  "I  s'pose  ye  hev  all  hearn 
'bout  Walter  Wyatt 's  takin'  off." 

"An'  none  too  soon,  sartain."  A  sour 
visage  was  glimpsed  beneath  the  wide  brim 
of  the  speaker's  hat. 

"Waal,"  drawled  the  semblance  of  the 
setter  from  deep  in  the  clare-obscure,  "Watt 
war  jes  a  fool  from  lack  o'  sense." 

"That  kind  o'  fool  can't  be  cured,"  said 
another  of  the  players.  Then  he  sharply  ad- 

228 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

jured  the  dealer.  "Look  out  what  ye  be 
doinM  Ye  hev  gimme  two  kyerds." 

"  'Gene  Barker  will  git  ter  marry  Minta 
Elladine  Eiggs  now,  I  reckon,"  suggested 
the  man  on  the  anvil. 

"An'  I'll  dance  at  the  weddin'  with  right 
good  will  an'  a  nimble  toe,"  declared  the 
dealer,  vivaciously.  "I'll  be  glad  ter  see 
that  couple  settled.  That  gal  couldn't  make 
up  her  mind  ter  let  Walter  Wyatt  go,  an' 
yit  no  woman  in  her  senses  would  hev  been 
willin'  ter  marry  him.  He  war  ez  onre- 
sponsible  ez — ez — fox-fire. ' ' 

"An'  ez  onstiddy  ez  a  harricane,"  com 
mented  another. 

"An'  no  more  account  than  a  mole  in  the 
yearth,"  said  a  third. 

The  ghost  at  the  window  listened  in 
aghast  dismay  and  became  pale  in  sober 
truth,  for  these  boon  companions  he  had 
accounted  the  best  friends  he  had  in  the 
world.  They  had  no  word  of  regret,  no 
simple  human  pity ;  even  that  facile  meed  of 
casual  praise  that  he  was  "powerful  pleasant 
company"  was  withheld.  And  for  these  and 
such  as  these  he  had  bartered  the  esteem 
of  the  community  at  large  and  his  filial  duty 

229 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

and  obedience;  had  spurned  the  claims  of 
good  citizenship  and  placed  himself  in 
jeopardy  of  the  law;  had  forfeited  the  hand 
of  the  woman  he  loved. 

"Minta  Elladine  Riggs  ain't  keerin'  no 
how  fer  sech  ez  Watt,"  said  the  semblance  of 
the  setter,  with  a  knowing  nod  of  his  red 
head.  "I  war  np  thar  at  the  mill  whenst  the 
news  kem  ter-day,  an'  she  war  thar  ter  git 
some  seconds.  I  hev  hearn  women  go  off 
in  high-strikes  fer  a  lovyer's  death — even 
Mis'  Simton,  though  hern  was  jes  her  hus 
band,  an  'a  mighty  pore  one  at  that.  But 
Minta  Elladine  jes  listened  quiet  an'  com 
posed,  an'  never  said  one  word." 

The  batten  shutter  was  trembling  in  the 
ghost's  hand.  In  fact,  so  convulsive  was  his 
grasp  that  it  shook  the  hook  from  the  staple, 
and  the  shutter  slowly  opened  as  he  stood  at 
gaze. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  motion  that  attrac 
ted  the  attention  of  the  dealer,  perhaps  the 
influx  of  a  current  of  fresh  air.  He  lifted 
his  casual  glance  and  beheld,  distinct  in  the 
light  from  the  kerosene  lamp  and  imposed 
on  the  white  background  of  the  mist,  that 

230 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

familiar  and  individual  face,  pallid,  fixed, 
strange,  with  an  expression  that  he  had  never 
seen  it  wear  hitherto.  One  moment  of  sus 
pended  faculties,  and  he  sprang  up  with  a 
wild  cry  that  filled  the  little  shanty  with  its 
shrill  terror.  The  others  gazed  astounded 
upon  him,  then  followed  the  direcfign  of  his 
starting  eyes,  and  echoed  his  frantic  fright. 
There  was  a  wild  scurry  toward  the  door. 
The  overturning  of  the  lamp  was  imminent, 
but  it  still  burned  calmly  on  the  elevated 
hearth,  while  the  shoeing-stool  capsized  in 
the  rush,  and  the  red  head  of  its  lowly  occu 
pant  was  lowlier  still,  rolling  on  the  dirt 
floor.  Even  with  this  disadvantage,  however, 
he  was  not  the  hindmost,  and  reached  the 
exit  unhurt.  The  only  specific  damage 
wrought  by  the  panic  was  to  the  big  barn- 
like  doors  of  the  place.  They  had  been 
stanchly  barred  against  the  possible  intru 
sion  of  the  constable  of  the  district,  and  the 
fastenings  in  so  critical  an  emergency  could 
not  be  readily  loosed.  The  united  weight 
and  impetus  of  the  onset  burst  the  flimsy 
doors  into  fragments,  and  as  the  party  fled 
in  devious  directions  in  the  misty  moonlight, 

231 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

the  calm  radiance  entered  at  the  wide-spread 
portal  and  illuminated  the  vacant  place  where 
late  had  been  so  merry  a  crew. 

Walter  Wyatt  had  known  the  time  when 
the  incident  would  have  held  an  incompar 
able  relish  for  him.  But  now  he  gazed  all 
forlorn  into  the  empty  building  with  a  single 
thought  in  his  mind.  "Not  one  of  'em 
keered  a  mite!  Nare  good  word,  nare  sigh, 
not  even, '  Fare  ye  well,  old  mate ! '  " 

His  breast  heaved,  his  eyes  flash'ed. 

"An'  I  hev  loant  money  ter  Jim,  whenst 
I  hed  need  myself;  an'  holped  George  in  the 
mill,  when  his  wrist  war  sprained,  without 
a  cent  o'  pay;  an'  took  the  blame  when  'Dol- 
phus  war  faulted  by  his  dad  fur  lamin'  the 
horse-critter;  an'  stood  back  an'  let  Pete  git 
the  meat  whenst  we-uns  shot  fur  beef,  bein' 
he  hev  got  a  wife  an'  chil'ren  ter  feed.  All 
leetle  favors,  but  nare  leetle  word." 

He  had  turned  from  the  window  and  was 
tramping  absently  down  the  road,  all  un 
mindful  of  the  skulking  methods  of  the 
spectral  gentry.  If  he  had  chanced  to  be 
observed,  his  little  farce,  that  had  yet  an  ele 
ment  of  tragedy  in  its  presentation,  must 
soon  have  reached  its  close.  But  the  fog 

232 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

hung  about  him  like  a  cloak,  and  when  the 
moon  cast  aside  the  vapors,  it  was  in  a  dis 
tant  silver  sheen  illumining  the  far  reaches 
of  the  valley.  Only  when  its  light  summoned 
forth  a  brilliant  and  glancing  reflection  on  a 
lower  level,  as  if  a  thousand  sabers  were 
unsheathed  at  a  word,  he  recognized  the 
proximity  of  the  river  and  came  to  a  sud 
den  halt. 

"Whar  is  this  fool  goin'?"  he  demanded 
angrily  of  space.  "To  the  graveyard,  I 
declar',  ez  ef  I  war  a  harnt  fur  true,  an' 
buried  sure  enough.  An'  I  wish  I  war.  I 
wish  I  war." 

He  realized,  after  a  moment's  considera 
tion,  that  he  had  been  unconsciously  actuated 
by  the  chance  of  meeting  the  wagon,  return 
ing  by  this  route  from  the  cross-roads'  store. 
He  was  tired,  disheartened;  his  spirit  was 
spent;  he  would  be  glad  of  the  lift.  He  re 
flected,  however,  that  he  must  needs  wait 
some  time,  for  this  was  the  date  of  a  revival- 
meeting  at  the  little  church,  and  the  dis 
tillers'  wagon  would  lag,  that  its  belated 
night  journey  might  not  be  subjected  to  the 
scrutiny  and  comment  of  the  church-goers. 
Indeed,  even  now  Walter  Wyatt  saw  in  the 

233 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

distance  the  glimmer  of  a  lantern,  intimating 
homeward-bound  worshipers  not  yet  out  of 
sight. 

"The  saints  kep'  it  up  late  ter-night," 
he  commented. 

He  resolved  to  wait  till  the  roll  of  wheels 
should  tell  of  the  return  of  the  moonshiners' 
empty  wagon. 

He  crossed  the  river  on  the  little  foot 
bridge  and  took  his  'way  languidly  along 
the  road  toward  the  deserted  church.  He 
was  close  to  the  hedge  that  grew  thick  and 
rank  about  the  little  inclosure  when  he  sud 
denly  heard  the  sound  of  lamentation  from 
within.  He  drew  back  precipitately,  with  a 
sense  of  sacrilege,  but  the  branches  of  the 
unpruned  growth  had  caught  in  his  sleeve, 
and  he  sought  to  disengage  the  cloth  with 
out  such  rustling  stir  as  might  disturb  or 
alarm  the  mourner,  who  had  evidently 
lingered  here,  after  the  dispersal  of  the  con 
gregation,  for  a  moment's  indulgence  of  grief 
and  despair.  He  had  a  glimpse  through  the 
shaking  boughs  and  the  flickering  mist  of  a 
woman's  figure  kneeling  on  the  crude  red 
clods  of  a  new-made  grave.  A  vague,  anxious 
wonder  as  to  the  deceased  visited  him,  for  in 

234 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

the  sparsely  settled  districts  a  strong  com 
munity  sense  prevails.  Suddenly  in  a  chok 
ing  gust  of  sobs  and  burst  of  tears  he  recog 
nized  his  own  name  in  a  voice  of  which  every 
inflection  was  familiar.  For  a  moment  his 
heart  seemed  to  stand  still.  His  brain 
whirled  with  a  realization  of  this  unforeseen 
result  of  the  fantastic  story  of  his  death  in 
Eskaqua  Cove,  which  the  moonshiners,  on 
the  verge  of  detection  and  arrest,  had  cir 
culated  in  Tanglefoot  as  a  measure  of  safety. 
They  had  fancied  that  when  the  truth  was 
developed  it  would  be  easy  enough  to  declare 
the  men  drunk  or  mistaken.  The  "rev- 
enuers ' '  by  that  time  would  be  far  away,  and 
the  pervasive  security,  always  the  sequence 
of  a  raid,  successful  or  otherwise,  would 
once  more  promote  the  manufacture  of  the 
brush  whisky.  The  managers  of  the  moon- 
shining  interest  had  taken  measures  to  guard 
Wyatt's  aged  father  from  this  fantasy  of 
woe,  but  they  had  not  dreamed  that  the 
mountain  coquette  might  care.  He  himself 
stood  appalled  that  this  ghastly  fable  should 
delude  his  heart's  beloved,  amazed  that  it 
should  cost  her  one  sigh,  one  sob.  Her  rack 
ing  paroxysms  of  grief  over  this  gruesome 

235 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

figment  of  a  grave  he  was  humiliated  to  hear, 
he  was  woeful  to  see.  He  felt  that  he  was 
not  worth  one  tear  of  the  floods  with  which 
she  bewept  his  name,  uttered  in  every 
cadence  of  tender  regret  that  her  melancholy 
voice  could  compass.  It  must  cease,  she 
must  know  the  truth  at  whatever  cost.  He 
broke  through  the  hedge  and  stood  in  the 
flicker  of  the  moonlight  before  her,  pale, 
agitated,  all  unlike  his  wonted  self. 

She  did  not  hear,  amid  the  tumult  of  her 
weeping,  the  rustling  of  the  boughs,  but  some 
subtle  sense  took  cognizance  of  his  presence. 
She  half  rose,  and  with  one  hand  holding 
back  her  dense  yellow  hair,  which  had  fallen 
forward  on  her  forehead,  she  looked  up  at 
him  fearfully,  tremulously,  with  all  the  revolt 
of  the  corporeal  creature  for  the  essence  of 
the  mysterious  incorporeal.  For  a  moment 
he  could  not  speak.  So  much  he  must  needs 
explain.  The  next  instant  he  was  whelmed 
in  the  avalanche  of  her  words. 

"Ye  hev  kem!"  she  exclaimed  in  a  sort 
of  shrill  ecstasy.  "Ye  hev  kem  so  far  ter 
hear  the  word  that  I  would  give  my  life  ter 
hev  said  before.  Ye  knowed  it  in  heaven! 
An'  how  like  ye  ter  kem  ter  gin  me  the 

236 


Copyright,  lyn,  by  The  Century  Company. 

WITH  ONE  HAND  HOLDING  BACK  HER  DENSE  YELLOW  HAIR 
LOOKED  UP  AT  HIM 


SHE 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

chanst  ter  say  it  at  last !  How  like  the  good 
heart  of  ye,  worth  all  the  hearts  on  yearth 
— an'  buried  hyar!" 

With  her  open  palm  she  smote  the  in 
sensate  clods  with  a  gesture  of  despair. 
Then  she  went  on  in  a  rising  tide  of  tumult 
uous  emotion.  "I  love  ye!  Oh,  I  always 
loved  ye!  I  never  keered  fur  nobody  else! 
An'  I  war  tongue-tied,  an'  full  of  fool  pride, 
an'  faultin'  ye  fur  yer  ways;  an'  I  wouldn't 
gin  ye  the  word  I  knowed  ye  war  wantin' 
ter  hear.  But  now  I  kin  tell  the  pore  ghost 
of  ye — I  kin  tell  the  pore,  pore  ghost!" 

She  buried  her  swollen,  tear-stained  face 
in  her  hands,  and  shook  her  head  to  and 
fro  with  the  realization  of  the  futility  of  late 
repentance.  As  she  once  more  lifted  her 
eyes,  she  was  obviously  surprised  to  see  him 
still  standing  there,  and  the  crisis  seemed  to 
restore  to  him  the  faculty  of  speech. 

"Minta  Elladine,"  he  said  huskily  and 
prosaically,  "I  ain't  dead!" 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  stood  gazing 
at  him,  intent  and  quivering. 

"I  be  truly  alive  an'  kickin',  an'  ez  worth 
less  ez  ever,"  he  went  on. 

She  said  not  a  word,  but  bent  and  pallid, 

237 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

and,  quaking  in  every  muscle,  stood  peering 
beneath  her  hand,  which  still  held  back  her 
hair. 

"It's  all  a  mistake,"  he  urged.  "This 
ain't  no  grave.  The  top  war  dug  a  leetle 
ter  turn  off  a  revenuer's  suspicions  o'  the 
moonshiners.  They  put  that  tale  out." 

Still,  evidently  on  the  verge  of  collapse, 
she  did  not  speak. 

"Ye  needn't  be  af  eared  ez  I  be  goin'  ter 
take  fur  true  all  I  hearn  ye  say ;  folks  air  gin 
ter  vauntin'  the  dead,"  he  paused  for  a 
moment,  remembering  the  caustic  comments 
over  the  deal  of  the  cards,  then  added, 
"though  I  reckon  I  hev  hed  some  cur'ous 
'speriences  ez  a  harnt." 

She  suddenly  threw  up  both  arms  with 
a  shrill  scream,  half  nervous  exhaustion,  half 
inexpressible  delight.  She  swayed  to  and 
fro,  almost  fainting,  her  balance  failing. 
He  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  she  leaned 
sobbing  against  his  breast. 

"I  stand  ter  every  word  of  it,"  she  cried, 
her  voice  broken  and  lapsed  from  control. 
"I  love  ye,  an'  I  despise  all  the  rest!" 

"I  be  powerful  wild,"  he  suggested  con 
tritely. 

238 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

"7  ain't  keerin'  ef  ye  be  ez  wild  ez  a 
deer." 

"But  I'm  goin'  to  quit  gamesome  com 
pany  an'  playin'  kyerds  an'  sech.  I  expec' 
ter  mend  my  ways  now,"  he  promised 
eagerly. 

"Ye  kin  mend  'em  or  let  'em  stay  tore, 
jes  ez  ye  please,"  she  declared  recklessly. 
"I  ain't  snatched  my  lovyer  from  the  jaws  o' 
death  ter  want  him  otherwise;  ye  be  plumb 
true-hearted,  I  know." 

"I  mought  ez  well  hev  been  buried  in  this 
grave  fer  the  last  ten  year'  fer  all  the  use 
I  hev  been,"  he  protested  solemnly;  "but  I 
hev  learnt  a  lesson  through  bein'  a  harnt  fer 
a  while — I  hev  jes  kem  ter  life.  I'm  goin' 
ter  live  now.  I'll  make  myself  some  use  in 
the  world,  an'  fust  off  I  be  goin'  ter  hinder 
the  murder  of  a  man  what  they  hev  got 
trapped  up  yander  at  the  still." 

This  initial  devoir  of  his  reformation, 
however,  Wyatt  found  no  easy  matter.  The 
event  had  been  craftily  planned  to  seem  an 
accident,  a  fall  from  a  cliff  in  pursuing  the 
wagon,  and  only  the  most  ardent  and  cogent 
urgency  on  Wyatt 's  part  prevailed  at 
length.  He  argued  that  this  interpretation 

239 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

of  the  disaster  would  not  satisfy  the  author 
ities.  To  take  the  raider's  life  in  sured  dis 
covery,  retribution.  But  as  he  had  been 
brought  to  the  still  in  the  night,  it  was  obvious 
that  if  he  were  conveyed  under  cover  of  dark 
ness  and  by  roundabout  trails  within  striking 
distance  of  the  settlements,  he  could  never 
again  find  his  way  to  the  locality  in  the  dense 
wilderness.  In  his  detention  he  had  necessar 
ily  learned  nothing  fresh,  for  the  only  names 
he  could  have  overheard  had  long  been  ob 
noxious  to  suspicion  of  moonshining,  and 
afforded  no  proof.  Thus  humanity,  mas 
querading  as  caution,  finally  triumphed,  and 
the  officer,  blindfolded,  was  conducted 
through  devious  and  winding  ways  many 
miles  distant,  and  released  within  a  day's 
travel  of  the  county  town. 

Walter  "Wyatt  was  scarcely  welcomed 
back  to  life  by  the  denizens  of  the  cove  gen 
erally  with  the  enthusiasm  attendant  on  the 
first  moments  of  his  resuscitation,  so  to 
speak.  He  never  forgot  the  solemn  ecstasy 
of  that  experience,  and  in  later  years  he  was 
wont  to  annul  any  menace  of  discord  with  his 
wife  by  the  warning,  half  jocose,  half  tender : 
1 '  Ye  hed  better  mind ;  ye '11  be  sorry  some  day 

240 


HIS  UNQUIET  GHOST 

fur  treatin'  me  so  mean.  Eemember,  I  hev 
viewed  ye  a-weepin'  over  my  grave  before 
now. ' ' 

A  reformation,  however  complete  and 
salutary,  works  no  change  of  identity,  and 
although  he  developed  into  an  orderly,  in 
dustrious,  law-abiding  citizen,  his  prankish 
temperament  remained  recognizable  in  the 
fantastic  fables  which  he  delighted  to  re 
count  at  some  genial  fireside  of  what  he  had 
seen  and  heard  as  a  ghost. 

"  'Pears  like,  Watt,  ye  hed  more  experi 
ences  whenst  dead  than  livin',"  said  an 
auditor,  as  these  stories  multiplied. 

"I  did,  fur  a  fack,"  Watt  protested.  "I 
war  a  powerful  onchancy,  onquiet  ghost.  I 
even  did  my  courtin'  whilst  in  my  reg'lar  line 
o'  business  a-harntin'  a  graveyard." 


•19  24} 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

Tall,  delicate,  and  stately,  with  all  the 
finished  symmetry  and  distinction  that  might 
appertain  to  a  cultivated  plant,  yet  sharing 
that  fragility  of  texture  and  peculiar  sug 
gestion  of  evanescence  characteristic  of  the 
unheeded  weed  as  it  flowers,  the  Chilhowee 
lily  caught  his  eye.  Albeit  long  familiar,  the 
bloom  was  now  invested  with  a  special  sig 
nificance  and  the  sight  of  it  brought  him 
to  a  sudden  pause. 

The  cluster  grew  in  a  niche  on  the  rocky 
verge  of  a  precipice  beetling  over  the  wind 
ings  of  the  rugged  primitive  road  on  the 
slope  of  the  ridge.  The  great  pure  white 
bloom,  trumpet-shaped  and  crowned  with 
its  flaring  and  many-cleft  paracorolla,  dis 
tinct  against  the  densely  blue  sky,  seemed 
the  more  ethereal  because  of  the  delicacy  of 
its  stalk,  so  erect,  so  inflexibly  upright. 
About  it  the  rocks  were  at  intervals  green 
with  moss,  and  showed  here  and  there  heavy 
ocherous  water  stain.  The  luxuriant  ferns 
and  pendant  vines  in  the  densely  umbrageous 
tangle  of  verdure  served  to  heighten  by  con- 

242 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

trast  the  keen  whiteness  of  the  flower  and 
the  isolation  of  its  situation. 

Ozias  Crann  sighed  with  perplexity  as 
he  looked,  and  then  his  eye  wandered  down 
the  great  bosky  slope  of  the  wooded  moun 
tain  where  in  marshy  spots,  here  and  there, 
a  sudden  white  flare  in  the  shadows  be 
tokened  the  Chilhowee  lily,  flowering  in 
myraids,  holding  out  lures  bewildering  in 
their  multitude. 

"They  air  bloomin'  bodaciously  all  over 
the  mounting,"  he  remarked  rancorously,  as 
he  leaned  heavily  on  a  pickaxe;  "but  we  uns 
hed  better  try  it  ter-night  ennyhows." 

It  was  late  in  August;  a  moon  of  exceed 
ing  lustre  was  in  the  sky,  while  still  the 
sun  was  going  down.  All  the  western  clouds 
were  aflare  with  gorgeous  reflections;  the 
long  reaches  of  the  Great  Smoky  range  had 
grown  densely  purple;  and  those  dim  Cum 
berland  heights  that,  viewed  from  this  preci 
pice  of  Chilhowee,  were  wont  to  show  so 
softly  blue  in  the  distance,  had  now  a  variant 
amethystine  hue,  hard  and  translucent  of 
effect  as  the  jewel  itself. 

The  face  of  one  of  his  companions  ex 
pressed  an  adverse  doubt,  as  he,  too,  gazed 

243 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

at  the  illuminated  wilderness,   all   solitary, 
silent,  remote. 

"  Tears  like  ter  me  it  mought  be  power 
ful  public,"  Pete  Swofford  objected.  He  • 
had  a  tall,  heavy,  lumpish,  frame,  a  lack 
luster  eye,  a  broad,  dimpled,  babyish  face 
incongruously  decorated  with  a  tuft  of  dark 
beard  at  the  chin.  The  suit  of  brown  jeans 
which  he  wore  bore  token  variously  of  the 
storms  it  had  weathered,  and  his  coarse  cow 
hide  boots  were  drawn  over  the  trousers  to 
the  knee.  His  attention  was  now  and  again 
diverted  from  the  conversation  by  the  neces 
sity  of  aiding  a  young  bear,  which  he  led  by 
a  chain,  to  repel  the  unwelcome  demonstra 
tions  of  two  hounds  belonging  to  one  of  his 
interlocutors.  Snuffling  and  nosing  about  in 
an  affectation  of  curiosity  the  dogs  could  not 
forbear  growling  outright,  as  their  muzzles 
approached  their  shrinking  hereditary  enemy, 
while  the  cub  nestled  close  to  his  master 
and  whimpered  like  a  child. 

"Jes'  so,  jes'  so,  Honey.  I'll  make  'em 
cl  'ar  out ! ' '  Swofford  replied  to  the  animal 's 
appeal  with  ready  sympathy.  Then,  "I  wish 
ter  Gawd,  Eufe,  ye'd  call  yer  dogs  off,"  he 
added  in  a  sort  of  aside  to  the  youngest  of 

244 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

the  three  mountaineers,  who  stood  among 
the  already  reddening  sumac  fringing 
the  road,  beside  his  horse,  athwart  which 
lay  a  buck  all  gray  and  antlered,  his 
recently  cut  throat  still  dripping  blood. 
The  party  had  been  here  long  enough 
for  it  to  collect  in  a  tiny  pool  in  a  crevice  in 
the  rocky  road,  and  the  hounds  constrained 
to  cease  their  harassments  of  the  bear  now 
began  to  eagerly  lap  it  up.  The  rifle  with 
which  Euf  e  Kinnicutt  had  killed  the  deer  was 
still  in  his  hands  and  he  leaned  upon  it;  he 
was  a  tall,  finely  formed,  athletic  young  fel 
low  with  dark  hair,  keen,  darkly  greenish 
eyes,  full  of  quickly  glancing  lights,  and  as 
he,  too,  scanned  the  sky,  his  attitude  of  mind 
also  seemed  dissuasive. 

"  Tears  like  thar  won't  be  no  night,  ez 
ye  mought  call  night,  till  this  moon  goes 
down,"  he  suggested.  "  'Pears  nigh  ez 
bright  ez  day!" 

Ozias  Crann's  lank,  angular  frame;  his 
narrow,  bony  face;  his  nose,  long  yet  not 
large,  sharp,  pinched;  his  light  grey  eyes, 
set  very  closely  together ;  his  straggling  red 
dish  beard,  all  were  fitting  concomitants  to 
accent  the  degree  of  caustic  contempt  he  ex- 

245 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

pressed.  "Oh,  to  be  sure!"  lie  drawled. 
"It'll  be  powerful  public  up  hyar  in 
the  mounting  in  the  midnight, — that's  a 
fac'! — an'  moonlight  is  mighty  illconvenient 
to  them  ez  wants  ter  git  spied  on  through 
totin'  a  lantern  in  cur'ous  places." 

This  sarcasm  left  the  two  remonstrants 
out  of  countenance.  Pete  Swofford  found  a 
certain  resource  in  the  agitations  of  his  bear, 
once  more  shrinking  and  protesting  because 
of  the  dogs.  "Call  off  yer  hound-dogs, 
Bufe,"  he  cried  irritably,  "or  I'll  gin  'em  a 
bullet  ter  swallow." 

"Ye  air  a  plumb  fool  about  that  thar  bar, 
Pete,"  Kinnicutt  said  sourly,  calling  off  the 
hounds  nevertheless. 

"That  thar  bar?"  exclaimed  Swofford. 
"Why,  thar  never  war  sech  a  bar!  That 
thar  bar  goes  ter  mill,  an'  kin  fetch  home 
grist, — ef  I  starts  him  out  in  the  woods  whar 
he  won't  meet  no  dogs  nor  contrairy  cattle 
o'  men  he  kin  go  ter  mill  all  by  his  lone! — 
same  ez  folks  an'  the  bes'  kind  o'  folks, 
too!" 

In  fact  the  bear  was  'even  now  begirt  with 
a  meal-bag,  well  filled,  which  although  adding 
to  his  uncouth  appearance  and  perhaps  un- 

246 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

duly  afflicting  the  sensibilities  of  the  horse, 
who  snorted  and  reared  at  the  sight  of  him, 
saved  his  master  the  labor  of  "packing"  the 
heavy  weight. 

Swofford  had  his  genial  instincts  and  in 
return  was  willing  to  put  up  with  the  cub- 
bishness  of  the  transport, — would  wait  in  the 
illimitable  patience  of  the  utterly  idle  for  the 
bear  to  climb  a  tree  if  he  liked  and  pleasantly 
share  with  him  the  persimmons  of  his  quest ; 
— would  never  interfere  when  the  bear  flung 
himself  down  and  wallowed  with  tEe  bag  on 
his  back,  and  would  reply  to  the  censorious 
at  home,  objecting  to  the  dust  and  sand  thus 
sifting  in  with  the  meal,  with  the  time  hon 
ored  reminder  that  we  are  all  destined  "to 
eat  a  peck  of  dirt"  in  this  world. 

"Whenst  ye  fust  spoke  o'  digging"  said 
Kinnicutt,  interrupting  a  lengthening  ac 
count  of  the  bear's  mental  and  moral 
graces,  "I  'lowed  ez  ye  mought  be  sayin'  ez 
they  air  layin'  off  ter  work  agin  in  the 
Tanglefoot  Mine." 

Ozias  Crann  lifted  a  scornful  chin.  "I 
reckon  the  last  disasters  thar  hev  interrupted 
the  company  so  ez  they  hain't  got  much  heart 
todes  diggin'  fur  silver  agin  over  in  Tangle- 

247 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

foot  Cove.  Fust,"  he  checked  off  these  mis 
fortunes,  by  laying  the  fingers  of  one  hand 
successively  in  the  palm  of  the  other,  "the 
timbers  o'  one  o'  tne  cross  cuts  fell  an'  the 
roof  caved  in  an'  them  two  men  war  kilt,  an' 
thar  famblies  sued  the  company  an'  got  mo' 
damages  'n  the  men  war  bodaciously  wuth. 
Then  the  nex'  thing  the  pay  agent,  ez  war 
sent  from  Glaston,  war  held  up  in  Tangle 
foot  an'  robbed — some  say  by  the  miners. 
He  got  hyar  whenst  they  war  out  on  a  strike, 
an'  they  robbed  him  'cause  they  warn't  paid 
cordin'  ter  thar  lights,  an'  they  did  shoot 
him  up  cornsider'ble.  That  happened  jes' 
about  a  year  ago.  Then  sence,  thar  hev  been 
a  awful  cavin'  in  that  deep  shaft  they  hed 
sunk  in  the  tunnel,  an'  the  mine  war  flooded 
an'  the  machinery  ruint — I  reckon  the  com 
pany  in  Glaston  ain't  a-layin'  off  ter  fly  in  the 
face  o'  Providence  and  begin  agin,  arter  all 
them  leadin's  ter  quit." 

"Some  believe  he  warn't  robbed  at  all," 
Kinnicutt  said  slowly.  He  had  turned  list 
lessly  away,  evidently  meditating  departure, 
his  hand  on  his  horse's  mane,  one  foot  in  the 
stirrup. 

"Ye  know  that  gal  named  Loralindy 
Byars?"  Crann  said  craftily. 

248 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

Kinnieutt  paused  abruptly.  Then  as  the 
schemer  remained  silent  he  demanded, 
frowning  darkly,  "What's  Loralindy  Byars 
got  ter  do  with  it  ? " 

"Mighty  nigh  all!"  Crann  exclaimed, 
triumphantly. 

It  was  a  moment  of  tense  suspense. •"  But 
it  was  not  Crann 's  policy  to  tantalize  him 
further,  however  much  -the  process  mighf 
address  itself  to  his  peculiar  interpretation 
of  pleasure.  "That  thar  pay  agent  o'  the 
mining  company,"  he  explained,  "he  hed 
some  sort'n  comical  name — oh,  I  remem 
ber  now,  Eenfrow — Paul  Eenfrow — waal — 
ye  know  he  war  shot  in  the  knee  when  the 
miners  way-laid  him." 

"I  disremember  now  ef  it  war  in  the  knee 
or  the  thigh,"  Swofford  interposed,  heavily 
pondering. 

Kinnicutt 's  brow  contracted  angrily,  and 
Crann  broke  into  open  wrath:  "An'  I  ain't 
carin',  ye  fool — what  d'  ye  interrupt  fur  like 
that?" 

"Wall,"  protested  Swofford,  indignantly, 
"ye  said  'ye  know'  an'  I  didn't  'know." 

"An'  I  aint  carin' — the  main  p'int  war 
that  he  could  neither  ride  nor  walk.  So  the 

249 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

critter  crawled!  Nobody  knows  how  he  gin 
the  strikers  the  slip,  but  he  got  through  ter 
old  man  Byars 's  house.  An'  thar  he  staid 
till  Loralindy  an'  the  old  'oman  Byars 
nussed  him  up  so  ez  he  could  bear  the  pain 
o'  bein'  moved.  An'  he  got  old  man  Byars 
ter  wagin  him  down  ter  Colb'ry,  a-layin'  on 
two  feather  beds  'count  o'  the  rocky  roads, 
an'  thar  he  got  on  the  steam  kyars  an'  he 
rid  on  them  back  ter  whar  he  kem  from." 

Kinnicutt  seemed  unable  to  longer  re 
strain  his  impatience.  He  advanced  a  pace. 
"Ye  appear  ter  'low  ez  ye  air  tellin'  news — • 
I  knowed  all  that  whenst  it  happened  a  full 
year  ago!" 

"I  reckon  ye  know,  too,  ez  Loralindy  hed 
no  eyes  nor  ears  fur  ennybody  else  whilst  he 
war  hyar — but  then  lie  war  good-lookin'  an' 
saaft-spoken  fur  true!  An'  now  heTiev  writ 
a  letter  ter  her!" 

Crann  grinned  as  Kinnicutt  inadvertently 
gasped.  "How  do  you  uns  know  that?"  the 
young  man  hoarsely  demanded,  with  a  chal 
lenging  accent  of  doubt,  yet  prescient  de 
spair. 

"  'Kase,  bubby,  that's  the  way  the  story 
'bout  the  lily  got  out.  I  was  at  the  mill  this 

250 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

actial  day.  The  miller  hed  got  the  letter — 
hevin'  been  ter  the  post-office  at  the  Cross 
roads — an'  he  read  it  ter  her,  bein'  ez 
Loralindy  can't  read  writin'.  She  warn't 
expectin'  it.  He  writ  of  his  own  accord." 

A  sense  of  shadows  impended  vaguely 
over  all  the  illuminated  world,  and  now  and 
again  a  flicker  of  wings  through  the  upper 
atmosphere  betokened  the  flight  of  homing 
birds.  Crann  gazed  about  him  absently 
while  he  permitted  the  statement  he  had 
made  to  sink  deep  into  the  jealous,  shrinking 
heart  of  the  young  mountaineer,  and  he  re 
peated  it  as  he  resumed. 

"She  warnt'  expectin'  of  the  letter.  She 
jes'  stood  thar  by  the  mill-door  straight  an' 
slim  an'  white  an'  still,  like  she  always  be — 
ter  my  mind  like  she  war  some  sort'n  sperit, 
stiddier  a  sure  enough  gal — with  her  yaller 
hair  slick  an'  plain,  an'  that  old,  faded,  green 
cotton  dress  she  mos'  always  wears,  an' 
lookin'  quiet  out  at  the  water  o'  the  mill-dam 
ter  one  side,  with  the  trees  a-wavin'  behind 
her  at  the  open  door — jes'  like  she  always 
be!  An'  arter  awhile  she  speaks  slow  an' 
saaft  an  axes  the  miller  ter  read  it  aloud 
ter  her.  An'  lo!  old  man  Bates  war  rej'iced 

251 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

an'  glorified  ter  the  bone  ter  be  able  ter  git  a 
peek  inter  that  letter !  He  jes'  shet  down  the 
gates  and  stopped  the  mill  from  rummf*  in  a 
jiffy,  an'  tole  all  them  loafers,  ez  hangs  round 
thar  mos'ly,  ter  quit  thar  noise.  An'  then 
he  propped  hisself  up  on  a  pile  o'  grist,  an' 
thar  he  read  all  the  sayin's  ez  war  writ  in 
that  letter.  An'  a  power  o'  time  it  tuk,  an'  a 
power  o'  spellin'  an'  bodaciously  wrastlin' 
with  the  alphabit." 

He  laughed  lazily,  as  he  turned  his  quid 
of  tobacco  in  his  mouth,  recollecting  the  tur 
bulence  of  these  linguistic  turmoils. 

"This  /hyar  feller — this  Eenfrow — he 
called  her  in  the  letter  'My  dear  friend' — 
he  did — an'  'lowed  he  hed  a  right  ter  the 
word,  fur  ef  ever  a  man  war  befriended  he 
hed  been.  He  'lowed  ez  he  could  never  fur- 
get  her.  An'  Lord!  how  it  tickled  old  man 
Bates  ter  read  them  sentiments — the  pride- 
ful  old  peacock!  He  would  jes'  stop  an'  push 
his  spectacles  back  on  his  slick  bald  head  an' 
say,  'Ye  hear  me,  Loralindy!  he  'lows  he'll 
never  furget  the  keer  ye  tuk  o'  him  whenst 
he  war  shot  an'  ailin'  an'  nigh  ter  death. 
An'  no  mo'  he  ought,  nuther.  But  some  do 
furget  sech  ez  that,  Loralindy — some  do!' 

252 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

An'  them  fellers  at  the  mill,  listenin'  ter 
the  letter,  could  sca'cely  git  thar  consent  ter 
wait  fur  old  man  Bates  ter  git  through  his 
talk  ter  Loralindy,  that  he  kin  talk  ter  every 
day  in  the  year !  But  arter  awhile  he  settled 
his  spectacles  agin,  an'  tuk  another  tussle 
with  the  spelling  an'  then  he  rips  out  the 
main  p'int  o'  the  letter.  This  stranger-man 
he  'lowed  he  war  bold  enough  ter  a,x  another 
favior.  The  cuss  tried  ter  be  funny.  'One 
good  turn  desarves  another,'  he  said.  'An' 
ez  ye  hev  done  me  one  good  turn,  I  want  ye 
ter  do  me  another.'  An'  old  man  Bates  hed 
the  insurance  ter  waste  the  time  a-laffin'  an' 
a-laffin'  at  sech  a  good  joke.  Them  fellers 
at  the  mill  could  hev  fund  it  in  thar  hearts 
ter  grind  him  up  in  his  own  hopper,  ef  it 
wouldn't  hev  ground  up  with  him  thar  chance 
o'  ever  hearin'  the  e-end  o'  that  thar  inter- 
estin'  letter.  So  thar  comes  the  favior. 
Would  she  dig  up  that  box  he  treasured  from 
whar  he  told  her  he  hed  buried  it,  arter  he 
escaped  from  the  attack  o'  the  miners?  An' 
would  she  take  the  box  ter  Colb'ry  in  her 
grandad's  wagin,  an'  send  it  ter  him  by  ex 
press.  He  hed  tole  her  once  whar  he  hed 
placed  it — an'  ter  mark  the  spot  mo'  per- 

253 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

cisely  he  hed  noticed  one  Chilhowee  lily  bulb 
right  beside  it.  An'  then  says  the  letter, 
4 Good  bye,  Chilhowee  Lily!'  An'  all  them 
fellers  stood  staring." 

A  light  wind  was  under  way  from  the  west. 
Delicate  flakes  of  red  and  glistening  white 
were  detached  from  the  clouds.  Sails — sails 
were  unfurling  in  the  vast  floods  of  the  skies. 
With  flaunting  banners  and  swelling  canvas  a 
splendid  fleet  reached  half  way  to  the  zenith. 
But  a  more  multitudinous  shipping  still 
swung  at  anchor  low  in  the  west,  though  the 
promise  of  a  fair  night  as  yet  held  fast: 

"An'  now,"  said  Ozias  Crann  in  con 
clusion,  "all  them  fellers  is  a-diggin'." 

"Whut's  in  the  box?"  demanded  Swof- 
ford,  his  big  baby-face  all  in  a  pucker  of 
doubt. 

"The  gold  an'  silver  he  ought  ter  hev  paid 
the  miners,  of  course.  They  always  'lowed 
they  never  tuk  a  dollar  off  him;  they  jes'  got 
a  long  range  shot  at  him!  How  I  wish," 
Ozias  Crann  broke  off  fervently,  "how  I  wish 
I  could  jes'  git  my  hands  on  that  money 
once!"  He  held  out  his  hands,  long  and 
sinewy,  and  opened  and  shut  them  very  fast. 

254 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

"Why,  that  would  be  stealin'!"  exclaimed 
Kinnicutt  with  repulsion. 

"How  so!  't  ain't  his'n  now,  sure — he 
war  jes'  the  agent  ter  pay  it  out,"  argued 
Crann,  volubly. 

"It  belongs  ter  the  mine  owners,  then — 
the  company."  There  was  a  suggestion  of 
inquiry  in  the  younger  man's  tone. 

"  Tears  not — they  sent  it  hyar  fur  the 
percise  purpose  ter  be  paid  out!"  the 
specious  Crann  replied. 

"Then  it  belongs  ter  the  miners." 

"They  hedn't  yearned  it — an'  ef  some  o' 
them  hed  they  warn't  thar  ter  receive  it, 
bein'  out  on  a  strike.  They  hed  burnt  down 
the  company's  office  over  yander  at  the  mine 
in  Tanglefoot  Cove,  with  all  the  books  an' 
accounts,  an'  now  nobody  knows  what's  ow- 
in'  ter  who." 

Kinnicutt 's  moral  protests  were  silenced, 
not  satisfied.  He  looked  up  moodily  at  the 
moon  now  alone  in  the  sky,  for  only  a  vanish 
ing  segment  of  the  great  vermilion  sphere  of 
the  sun  was  visible  above  the  western  moun 
tains,  when  suddenly  he  felt  one  of  those  long 
grasping  claws  on  his  arm.  "Now,  Eufe, 

255 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

bubby,"  a  most  insinuating  tone,  Crann  had 
summoned,  "all  them  fool  fellers  air  diggin' 
up  the  face  of  the  yearth,  wharever  they  kin 
find  a  Chilhowee  lily — like  sarchin'  fur  a 
needle  in  a  haystack.  But  we  uns  will  do  a 
better  thing  than  that.  I  drawed  the  idee  ez 
soon  ez  I  seen  you  an'  Pete  hyar  this  evenin' 
so  onexpected.  ' Them's  my  pardners,'  I  sez 
ter  myself.  'Pete  ter  holp  dig  an'  tote  ef  the 
box  be  heavy.  An'  you  ter  find  out  edzac'ly 
whar  it  be  hid.'  You  uns  an'  Loralindy  hev 
been  keepin'  company  right  smart,  an'  ye 
kin  toll  Loralindy  along  till  she  lets  slip  jes' 
whar  that  lily  air  growin'.  I'll  be  bound  ez 
she  likes  ye  a  sight  better  'n  that  Benfrow — 
leastwise  ef  't  warn't  fur  his  letter,  honeyin' 
her  up  with  complimints,  an'  she  hevin'  the 
chance  o'  tollin'  him  on  through  do  in'  him 
sech  faviors,  savin'  his  life,  an'  now  his 
money — shucks  it's  mo'  our  money  'n  his'n; 
't  ain  't  his  'n !  Gol-darn  the  insurance  o '  this 
Eenfrow !  His  idee  is  ter  keep  the  money  his 
own  self,  an'  make  her  sen'  it  ter  him. 
Then  ' Good-bye,  Chilhowee  Lily!'  " 

The  night  had  come  at  last,  albeit  almost 
as  bright  as  day,  but  with  so  ethereal,  so 
chastened  a  splendor  that  naught  of  day 

256 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

seemed  real.  A  world  of  dreams  it  was,  of 
gracious  illusions,  of  far  vague  distances 
that  lured  with  fair  promises  that  the  eye 
might  not  seek  to  measure.  The  gorgeous 
tints  were  gone,  and  in  their  stead  were  soft 
grays  and  indefinite  blurring  browns,  and 
every  suggestion  of  silver  that  metal  can 
show  flashed  in  variant  glitter  in  the  moon. 
The  mountains  were  majestically  sombre, 
with  a  mysterious  sense  of  awe  in  their  great 
height.  There  were  few  stars;  only  here 
and  there  the  intense  lustre  of  a  still  planet 
might  withstand  the  annihilating  magnifi 
cence  of  the  moon. 

Its  glamour  did  not  disdain  the  embellish 
ment  of  humbler  objects.  As  Eufe  Kinnicutt 
approached  a  little  log  cabin  nestling  in  a 
sheltered  cove  he  realized  that  a  year  had 
gone  by  since  Eenfrow  had  seen  it  first,  and 
that  thus  it  must  have  appeared  when  he 
beheld  it.  The  dew  was  bright  on  the  slant 
ing  roof,  and  the  shadow  of  oak  trees  wav 
ered  over  it.  The  mountain  loomed  above. 
The  zigzag  lines  of  the  rail  fence,  the  bee- 
gums  all  awry  ranged  against  it,  the  rickety 
barn  and  fowl-house,  the  gourd  vines  draping 
the  porch  of  the  dwelling,  all  had  a  glimmer 

17  257 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

of  dew  and  a  picturesque  symmetry,  while 
the  spinning  wheel  as  Loralinda  sat  in  the 
white  effulgent  glow  seemed  to  revolve  with 
flashes  of  light  in  lieu  of  spokes,  and  the 
thread  she  drew  forth  was  as  silver.  Its 
murmuring  rune  was  hardly  distinguishable 
from  the  chant  of  the  cicada  or  the  long  dron 
ing  in  strophe  and  antistrophe  of  the  water 
side  frogs  far  away,  but  such  was  the  whir 
or  her  absorption  that  she  did  not  perceive 
his  approach  till  his  shadow  fell  athwart  the 
threshold,  and  she  looked  up  with  a  start. 

"Ye  'pear  powerful  busy  a-workin'  hyar 
so  late  in  the  night,"  he  exclaimed  with  a 
jocose  intonation. 

She  smiled,  a  trifle  abashed;  then  evi 
dently  conscious  of  the  bizarre  suggestions 
of  so  much  ill-timed  industry,  she  explained, 
softly  drawling:  "Waal,  ye  know,  Granny, 
she  be  so  harried  with  her  rheumatics  ez  she 
gits  along  powerful  poor  with  her  wheel,  an' 
by  night  she  be  plumb  out'n  heart  an'  mad 
fur  true.  So  arter  she  goes  ter  bed  I  jes' 
spins  a  passel  fur  her,  an'  nex'  mornin'  she 
'lows  she  done  a  toler'ble  stint  o'  work  an' 
air  consider 'ble  s 'prised  ez  she  war  so  easy 
put  out." 

258 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

She  laughed  a  little,  but  he  did  not  re 
spond.  With  his  sensibilities  all  jarred  by 
the  perfidious  insinuation  of  Ozias  Crann, 
and  his  jealousy  all  on  the  alert,  he  noted  and 
resented  the  fact  that  at  first  her  attention 
had  come  back  reluctantly  to  him,  and  that 
he,  standing  before  her,  had  been  for  a 
moment  a  less  definitely  realized  presence 
than  the  thought  in  her  mind — this  thought 
had  naught  to  do  with  him,  and  of  that  he  was 
sure. 

"Loralindy,"  he  said  with  a  turbulent  im 
pulse  of  rage  and  grief ;  ' '  whenst  ye  promised 
to  marry  me  ye  an'  me  war  agreed  that  we 
would  never  hev  one  thought  hid  from  one 
another— ain't  that  a  true  word?" 

The  wheel  had  stopped  suddenly — the  sil 
ver  thread  was  broken;  she  was  looking  up 
at  him,  the  moonlight  full  on  the  straight 
delicate  lineaments  of  her  pale  face,  and  the 
smooth  glister  of  her  golden  hair.  "Not  o' 
my  own,"  she  stipulated.  And  he  remem 
bered,  and  wondered  that  it  should  come  to 
him  so  late,  that  she  had  stood  upon  this 
reservation  and  that  he — poor  fool — had 
conceded  it,  thinking  it  concerned  the  distill 
ing  of  whisky  in  defiance  of  the  revenue  law, 

259 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

in  which  some  of  her  relatives  were  suspected 
to  be  engaged,  and  of  which  he  wished  to 
know  as  little  as  possible. 

The  discovery  of  his  fatuity  was  not  of 
soothing  effect,  "  'T  war  that  man  Een- 
f row's  secret — I  hearn  about  his  letter  what 
war  read  down  ter  the  mill." 

She  nodded  acquiescently,  her  expression 
once  more  abstracted,  her  thoughts  far  afield. 

He  had  one  moment  of  triumph  as  he 
brought  himself  tensely  erect,  shouldering 
his  gun — his  shadow  behind  him  in  the  moon 
light  duplicated  the  gesture  with  a  sharp 
promptness  as  at  a  word  of  command. 

"All  the  mounting's  a-diggin'  by  this 
time!"  He  laughed  with  ready  scorn,  then 
experienced  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling. 
Her  face  had  changed.  Her  expression  was 
unfamiliar.  She  had  caught  together  the 
two  ends  of  the  broken  thread,  and  was  knot 
ting  them  with  a  steady  hand,  and  a  look  of 
composed  security  on  her  face,  that  was  itself 
a  flout  to  the  inopportune  search  of  the  moun 
taineers  and  boded  ill  to  his  hope  to  discover 
from  her  the  secret  of  the  cache.  He  re 
covered  himself  suddenly. 

"Ye   'lowed  ter  me  ez  ye  never  keered 

260 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

nuthin'  fur  that  man,  Benfrow,"  he  said  with 
a  plaintive  appeal,  far  more  powerful  with 
her  than  scorn. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  candid  reassur 
ing  eyes.  "I  never  keered  none  fur  him," 
she  protested.  "He  kem  hyar  all  shot  up, 
with  the  miners  an'  mounting  boys  hot  foot 
arter  him — an'  we  done  what  we  could  fur 
him.  Gran 'daddy  'lowed  ez  he  warn't  'spon- 
sible  fur  whut  the  owners  done,  or  hedn't 
done  at  the  mine,  an'  he  seen  no  sense  in 
shoo  tin'  one  man  ter  git  even  with  another." 

"But  ye  kep'  his  secret!"  Kinnicutt  per 
sisted. 

"What  fur  should  I  tell  it— 't  ain't 
mine?" 

"That  thar  money  in  that  box  he  buried 
ain't  Ms'n,  nuther!"  he  argued. 

There  was  an  inscrutable  look  in  her  clear 
eyes.  She  had  risen,  and  was  standing  in  the 
moonlight  opposite  him.  The  shadows  of 
the  vines  falling  over  her  straight  skirt  left 
her  face  and  hair  the  fairer  in  the  silver 
glister. 

"  'Pears  like  ter  me,"  he  broke  the  silence 
with  his  plaintive  cadence,  "ez  ye  ought  ter 
hev  tole  me.  I  ain't  keerin'  ter  know  'ceptin' 

261 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

ye  hev  shet  me  out.  It  hev  hurt  my  feelin's 
powerful  ter  be  treated  that-a-way.  Tell  me 
now — or  lemme  go  forever!" 

She  was  suddenly  trembling  from  head 
to  foot.  Pale  she  was  always.  Now  she  was 
ghastly.  "Bufe  Kinnicutt,"  she  said  with 
the  solemnity  of  an  adjuration,  "ye  don't 
keer  fur  sech  ez  this,  fur  nuthin9.  An'  I 
promised!" 

He  noted  her  agitation.  He  felt  the  clue 
in  his  grasp.  He  sought  to  wield  his  power, 
"Choose  a-twixt  us!  Choose  a-twixt  the 
promise  ye  made  ter  that  man — or  the  word 
ye  deny  ter  me!  An'  when  I'm  gone — I'm 
gone!" 

She  stood  seemingly  irresolute. 

"It's  nuthin'  ter  me,"  he  protested  once 
more.  "I  kin  keep  it  an'  gyard  it  ez  well  ez 
you  uns.  But  I  won't  be  shet  out,  an' 
doubted,  an'  denied,  like  ez  ef  /  wan't  fitten 
ter  be  trested  with  nuthin'!" 

He  stood  a  moment  longer,  watching  her 
trembling  agitation,  and  feeling  that  tingling 
exasperation  that  might  have  preceded  a 
blow. 

"I'm  goin',"  he  threatened. 

As  she  still  stood  motionless  he  turned 

262 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

away  as  if  to  make  good  Ms  threat.  He 
heard  a  vague  stir  among  the  leaves,  and 
turning  back  he  saw  that  the  porch  was 
vacant. 

He  had  overshot  the  mark.  In  swift  re 
pentance  he  retraced  his  steps.  He  called 
her  name.  No  response  save  the  echoes. 
The  house  dogs,  roused  to  a  fresh  excite 
ment,  were  gathering  about  the  door,  barking 
in  affected  alarm,  save  one,  to  whom  Kinni- 
cutt  was  a  stranger,  that  came,  silent  and 
ominous,  dragging  a  block  and  chain  from 
under  the  house.  Kinnicutt  heard  the  sud 
den  drowsy  plaints  of  the  old  rheumatic 
grandmother,  as  she  was  rudely  awakened  by 
the  clamors,  and  presently  a  heavy  footfall 
smote  upon  the  puncheons  that  floored  the 
porch.  Old  Byars  himself,  with  his  cracked 
voice  and  long  gray  hair,  had  left  his  pipe  on 
the  mantel-piece  to  investigate  the  disorder 
without. 

"Hy're  Rufe!"  he  swung  uneasily  posed 
on  his  crutch  stick  in  the  doorway,  and 
mechanically  shaded  his  eyes  with  one  hand, 
as  from  the  sun,  as  he  gazed  dubiously  at 
the  young  man,  "hain't  ye  in  an'  about 
finished  yer  visit? — or  yer  visitation,  ez  the 

263 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

pa 'son  calls  it.  He,  he,  he!  Wall,  Lora- 
lindy  hev  gone  up  steers  ter  the  roof-room, 
an'  it's  about  time  ter  bar  up  the  doors. 
Waal,  joy  go  with  ye,  he,  he,  he!  Come  off, 
Tige,  ye  Bose,  hyar!  Cur'ous  I  can't  1'arn 
them  dogs  no  manners." 

A  dreary  morrow  ensued  on  the  splendid 
night.  The  world  was  full  of  mists;  the 
clouds  were  resolved  into  drizzling  rain; 
every  perspective  of  expectation  was  re 
stricted  by  the  limited  purlieus  of  the  pres 
ent.  The  treasure-seekers  digging  here  and 
there  throughout  the  forest  in  every  nook 
in  low  ground,  wherever  a  drift  of  the  snowy 
blossoms  might  glimmer,  began  to  lose  hope 
and  faith.  Now  and  again  some  iconoclastic 
soul  sought  to  stigmatize  the  whole  rumor  as 
a  fable.  More  than  one  visited  the  Byars 
cabin  in  the  desperate  hope  that  some  chance 
word  might  fall  from  the  girl,  giving  a  clue 
to  the  mystery. 

By  daylight  the  dreary  little  hut  had  no 
longer  poetic  or  picturesque  suggestion.  Be 
reft  of  the  sheen  and  shimmer  of  the  moon 
light  its  aspect  had  collapsed  like  a  dream 
into  the  dullest  realities.  The  door-yard  was 
muddy  and  littered ;  here  the  razor-back  hogs 

264 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

rooted  unrebuked;  the  rail  fence  had  fallen 
on  one  side,  and  it  would  seem  that  only  their 
attachment  to  home  prevented  them  from 
wandering  forth  to  be  lost  in  the  wilderness ; 
the  clap-boards  of  the  shiny  roof  were  ooz 
ing  and  steaming  with  dampness,  and  showed 
all  awry  and  uneven;  the  clay  and  stick 
chimney,  hopelessly  out  of  plumb,  leaned  far 
from  the  wall. 

Within  it  was  not  more  cheerful ;  the  fire 
smoked  gustily  into  the  dim  little  room,  illu 
mined  only  by  the  flicker  of  the  blaze  and 
the  discouraged  daylight  from  the  open  door, 
for  the  batten  shutters  of  the  unglazed  win 
dow  were  closed.  The  puncheon  floor  was 
grimy — the  feet  that  curiosity  had  led  hither 
brought  much  red  clay  mire  upon  them.  The 
poultry,  all  wet  and  dispirited,  ventured 
within  and  stood  about  the  door,  now  scut 
tling  in  sudden  panic  and  with  peevish 
squawks  upon  the  unexpected  approach  of  a 
heavy  foot.  Loralinda,  sitting  at  her  spin 
ning  wheel,  was  paler  than  ever,  'all  her 
dearest  illusions  dashed  into  hopeless  frag 
ments,  and  a  promise  which  she  did  not  value 
to  one  whom  she  did  not'  love  quite  perfect 
and  intact. 

265 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

The  venerable  grandmother  sat  propped 
with  pillows  in  her  arm-chair,  and  now  and 
again  adjured  the  girl  to  "show  some  man 
ners  an'  tell  the  neighbors  what  they  so 
honed  to  know.'7  With  the  vehemence  of 
her  insistence  her  small  wizened  face  would 
suddenly  contract;  the  tortures  of  the  rheu 
matism,  particularly  rife  in  such  weather, 
would  seize  upon  her,  and  she  would  cry 
aloud  with  anguish,  and  clutch  her  stick  and 
smite  her  granddaughter  to  expedite  the 
search  for  the  primitive  remedies  of  dried 
"yarbs"  on  which  her  comfort  depended. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  she  would  wail  as  she  fell 
back  among  the  pillows.  "I'm  a-losin'  all 
my  religion  amongst  these  hyar  rheumatics. 
I  wish  I  war  a  man  jes'  ter  say  'damn  'em' 
once!  An'  come  good  weather  I'll  sca'cely 
be  able  ter  look  Loralindy  in  the  face,  con- 
siderin'  how  I  hector  her  whilst  I  be  in  the 
grip  o'  this  misery." 

"Jes'  pound  away,  Granny,  ef  it  makes 
ye  feel  ennywise  better,"  cried  Loralinda, 
furtively  rubbing  the  weales  on  her  arm. 
"It  don't  hurt  me  wuth  talkin'  'bout.  Ye 
jes'  pound  away,  an'  welcome!" 

Perhaps     it    was    her     slender,     elastic 

266 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

strength  and  'erect  grace,  with  her  shining 
hair  and  ethereal  calm  pallor  in  the  midst 
of  the  storm  that  evoked  the  comparison,  for 
Ozias  Crann  was  suddenly  reminded  of  the 
happy  similitude  suggested  by  the  letter  that 
he  had  heard  read  and  had  repeated  yester 
day  to  his  cronies  as  he  stood  in  the  road. 
The  place  was  before  him  for  one  illumined 
moment — the  niche  in  the  cliff,  with  its  ferns 
and  vines,  the  delicate  stately  dignity  of 
the  lilies  outlined  against  the  intense  blue 
of  the  sky. 

The  reminiscence  struck  him  like  a  dis 
covery.  Where  else  could  the  flower  have 
been  so  naturally  noticed  by  this  man,  a 
stranger,  and  remembered  as  a  mark  in  the 
expectation  of  finding  it  once  more  when  the 
bulb  should  flower  again — as  beside  the 
county  road?  He  would  have  been  hope 
lessly  lost  a  furlong  from  the  path. 

Crann  stood  for  a  moment  irresolute, 
then  silently  grasped  his  pickaxe  and  slunk 
out  among  the  mists  on  the  porch. 

He  berated  his  slow  mind  as  he  hurried 
invisible  through  the  vast  clouds  in  which 
the  world  seemed  lost.  Why  should  the  lag 
gard  inspiration  come  so  late  if  it  had  come 

267 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

at  all?  Why  should  he,  with  the  clue  lying 
half  developed  in  his  own  mental  impres 
sions,  have  lost  all  the  vacant  hours  of  the 
long,  bright  night,  have  given  the  rumor 
time  to  pervade  the  mountains,  and  set  all 
the  idlers  astir  before  he  should  strike  the 
decisive  blow? 

There,  at  last,  was  the  cliff,  beetling  far 
over  the  mist-filled  valley  below.  A  slant 
of  sunshine  fell  on  the  surging  vapor,  and 
it  gleamed  opalescent.  There  was  the  niche, 
with  the  lilies  all  a-bloom.  He  came  panting 
up  the  slope  under  the  dripping  trees,  with 
a  dash  of  wind  in  his  face  and  the  odor  of 
damp  leafage  and  mold  on  the  freshening 
air. 

He  struck  the  decisive  blow  with  a  will. 
The  lilies  shivered  and  fell  apart.  The 
echoes  multiplied  the  stroke  with  a  ringing 
metallic  iteration. 

The  loiterers  were  indeed  abroad.  The 
sound  lured  them  from  their  own  devious 
points  of  search,  and  a  half  dozen  of  the 
treasure-seekers  burst  from  the  invisibilities 
of  the  mists  as  Ozias  Crann's  pickaxe  cleav 
ing  the  mold  struck  upon  the  edge  of  a  small 
japanned  box  hidden  securely  between  the 

268 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

rocks,  a  scant  foot  below  the  surface.  A 
dangerous  spot  for  a  struggle,  the  verge  of  a 
precipice,  but  the  greed  for  gain  is  a  pas 
sion  that  blunts  the  sense  of  peril.  The 
wrestling  figures,  heedless  of  the  abyss, 
swayed  hither  and  thither,  the  precious  box 
among  them;  now  it  was  captured  by  a 
stronger  grasp,  now  secured  anew  by  sheer 
sleight-of-hand.  More  than  once  it  dropped 
to  the  ground,  and  at  last  in  falling  the  lock 
gave  way,  and  scattered  to  the  wind  were 
numberless  orderly  vouchers  for  money 
already  paid,  inventories  of  fixtures,  bills 
for  repairs,  reports  of  departments — various 
details  of  value  in  settling  the  accounts  of  the 
mine,  and  therefore  to  be  transmitted  to  the 
main  office  of  the  mining  company  at  Glaston. 
"Ef  I  hed  tole  ye  ez  the  money  warn't 
thar,  ye  wouldn't  hev  believed  me,"  Lora- 
linda  Byars  said  drearily,  when  certain  dis 
appointed  wights,  who  had  sought  elsewhere 
and  far  a-field,  repaired  to  the  cabin  laughing 
at  their  own  plight  and  upbraiding  her  with 
the  paucity  of  the  cache.  "I  knowed  all  the 
time  what  war  in  that  box.  The  man  lef '  it 
thar  in  the  niche  arter  he  war  shot,  it  bein' 
heavy  ter  tote  an'  not  wuth  much.  But  he 

269 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

bmng  the  money  with  him,  an'  tuk  it  off, 
bein',  he  said,  without  orders  from  the 
owners,  the  miners  hevin'  burnt  down  the 
offices,  an'  bruk  open  the  safe  an'  destroyed 
all  the  papers,  ceptin'  that  leetle  box.  I 
sewed  up  the  man's  money  myself  in  them 
feather  beds  what  he  lay  on  whenst  he  war 
wagined  down  'ter  Colb'ry  ter  take  the  kyars. 
He  'lowed  the  compn'y  mought  want  them 
papers  whenst  they  went  into  liquidation,  ez 
he  called  it,  an'  tole  me  how  he  hed  hid  'em." 

Euf e  Kinnicutt  wondered  that  she  should 
have  been  so  unyielding.  She  did  not  spec 
ulate  on  the  significance  of  her  promise.  She 
did  not  appraise  its  relative  value  with  other 
interests,  and  seek  to  qualify  it.  Once  given 
she  simply  kept  it.  She  held  herself  no  free 
agent.  It  was  not  hers. 

The  discovery  that  the  lure  was  gold  re 
vealed  the  incentive  of  her  lover's  jealous 
demand  to  share  the  custody  of  the  secret. 
His  intention  was  substituted  for  the  deed 
in  her  rigid  interpretation  of  integrity.  It 
cost  her  many  tears.  But  she  seemed  there 
after  to  him  still  more  unyielding,  as  erect, 
fragile,  ethereally  pure  and  pale  she  noted 
his  passing  no  more  than  the  lily  might.  He 

270 


A  CHILHOWEE  LILY 

often  thought  of  the  cheap  lure  of  the 
sophisms  that  had  so  deluded  him,  the  simple 
obvious  significance  of  the  letter,  and  the 
phrase,  " Goodbye,  Chilhowee  Lily,"  had  also 
an  echo  of  finality  for  him. 


271 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE 
HOLAUBA 

Gordon  never  forgot  the  sensation  lie  ex 
perienced  on  first  beholding  it.  There  was 
no  mist  in  the  midnight.  The  moon  was 
large  and  low.  The  darkness  of  the  dense, 
towering  forests  on  either  hand  impinged 
in  no  wise  on  the  melancholy  realm  of  wan 
light  in  which  the  Mississippi  lay,  un 
shadowed,  solitary,  silent  as  always,  its  chan 
nel  here  a  mile  or  more  in  breadth. 

He  had  been  observing  liow  the  mighty 
water-course  was  sending  out  its  currents 
into  a  bayou,  called  Bogue  Holauba,  as  if 
the  larger  stream  were  a  tributary  of  the 
lesser.  This  peculiarity  of  the  river  in  the 
deltaic  region,  to  throw  off  volume  instead 
of  continually  receiving  affluents,  was  unac 
customed  to  him,  being  a  stranger  to  the 
locality,  and  for  a  moment  it  focussed  his 
interest.  The  next,  his  every  faculty  was 
concentrated  on  a  singular  phenomenon  on 
the  bank  of  the  bogue. 

He  caught  his  breath  with  a  gasp;  then, 
without  conscious  volition,  he  sought  to  ex- 

272 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

plain  it  to  his  own  shocked  senses,  to  realize 
it  as  some  illusion,  some  combination  of 
natural  causes,  the  hour,  the  pallor  pervad 
ing  the  air,  the  distance,  for  his  boat  was 
near  the  middle  of  the  stream, — but  the 
definiteness  of  the  vision  annulled  his  efforts. 

There  on  the  broad,  low  margin,  distinct, 
yet  with  a  coercive  conviction  of  unreality, 
the  figure  of  a  man  drawn  in  lines  of  vague 
light  paced  slowly  to  and  fro;  an  old  man, 
he  would  have  said,  bent  and  wizened,  sway 
ing  back  and  forth,  in  expressive  contortions, 
a  very  pantomime  of  woe,  wringing  gaunt 
hands  and  arms  above  his  head,  and  now  and 
again  bowing  low  in  recurrent  paroxysms  of 
despair.  The  wind  held  its  breath,  and  the 
river,  mute  as  ever,  made  no  sign,  and  the 
encompassing  alluvial  wilderness  stood  for  a 
type  of  solitude.  Only  the  splashing  of  the 
paddle  of  the  "dug-out"  gave  token  of  the 
presence  of  life  in  all  the  land. 

Gordon  could  not  restrain  his  wonder. 
"What — what — is — that  Thing — over  there 
on  the  bank  of  the  bogue?"  he  called  out  to 
the  negro  servant  who  was  paddling  the 
canoe. 

He  was  all  unprepared  for  the  effect  of 

18  273 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

his  words.  Indeed,  lie  was  fain  to  hold  hard 
to  the  gunwales.  For  the  negro,  with  a  sud 
den  galvanic  start,  let  slip  the  paddle  from 
his  hand,  recovering  it  only  by  a  mighty 
lunge  in  a  mechanical  impulse  of  self -preser 
vation.  The  dug-out,  the  most  tricksy  craft 
afloat,  rocked  violently  in  the  commotion  and 
threatened  to  capsize.  Then,  as  it  finally 
righted,  its  course  was  hastily  changed,  and 
under  the  impetus  of  panic  terror  it  went 
shooting  down  the  river  at  a  tremendous 
speed. 

"Why,  what  does  all  this  mean?"  de 
manded  Gordon. 

"Don't  ye  talk  ter  me,  boss!"  the  boat 
man,  with  chattering  teeth,  adjured  his  pas 
senger.  "Don't  ye  talk  ter  me,  boss!  Don't 
tell  me  ye  seed  somepin  over  dar  on  Bogue 
Holauba — 'kase  ef  ye  do  I'se  gwine  ter  turn 
dis  dug-out  upside  down  an'  swim  out  ter  de 
Arkansas  side.  I  ain't  gwine  ter  paddle  dis 
boat  fur  no  ghost-seer,  sure  's  ye  are  born. 
I  ain't  gwine  ter  have  no  traffickin'  wid 
ghosts  nur  ghost-seers  nuther.  I'd  die  'fore 
de  year's  out,  sure!" 

The  sincerity  of  the  servant's  fright  was 
attested  by  the  change  in  his  manner.  He 

274 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

had  been  hitherto  all  cheerful,  though  re 
spectful,  affability,  evidently  bidding  high 
for  a  tip<  Now  he  crouched  disconsolate 
and  sullen  in  his  place,  wielding  the  paddle 
with  all  his  might,  and  sedulously  holding 
down  his  head,  avoiding  the  stranger's  eye. 

Gordon  felt  the  whole  situation  in  some 
sort  an  affront  to  his  dignity,  and  the  appari 
tion  being  withdrawn  from  view  by  the 
changed  direction,  he  was  in  better  case  to 
take  account  of  this, — to  revolt  at  the  un 
couth  character  of  the  craft  and  guide  sent 
for  him;  the  absence  of  any  member  of  his 
entertainer's  family  to  welcome  the  visitor, 
here  at  their  instance  and  invitation;  the 
hour  oT  the  night ;  the  uncanny  incident  of  the 
inexplicable  apparition, — but  when  that 
thought  recurred  to  him  he  sheered  off  pre 
cipitately  from  the  recollection. 

It  had  the  salutary  effect  of  predisposing 
him  to  make  the  best  of  the  situation.  Being 
to  a  degree  a  man  of  the  world  and  of  a  some 
what  large  experience,  he  began  to  argue 
within  himself  that  he  could  scarcely  have 
expected  a  different  reception  in  these  con 
ditions.  The  great  river  being  at  the  stage 
known  as  "dead  low  water,"  steamboat 

275 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

travel  was  practically  suspended  for  the  sea 
son,  or  he  could  have  reached  his  destina 
tion  more  directly  than  hy  rail.  An  acci 
dent  had  delayed  the  train  some  seven  hours, 
and  although  the  gasoline  launch  sent  to 
meet  him  at  the  nearest  way-station  had  been 
withdrawn  at  nightfall,  since  he  did  not  ar 
rive,  as  his  sable  attendant  informed  him, 
the  dug-out  had  been  substituted,  with  in 
structions  to  wait  all  night,  on  the  remote 
chance  that  he  might  come,  after  all. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  with  an  averse,  dis 
affected  gaze  that  he  silently  watched  the 
summit-line  of  foliage  on  either  bank  of  the 
river  glide  slowly  along  the  sky,  responsive 
to  the  motion  of  the  boat.  It  seemed  a  long 
monotony  of  this  experience,  as  he  sat  list 
less  in  the  canoe,  before  a  dim  whiteness  be 
gan  to  appear  in  a  great,  unbroken  expanse 
in  the  gradually  enlarging  riparian  view — 
the  glister  of  the  moon  on  the  open  cotton- 
bolls  in  the  fields.  The  forests  were  giving 
way,  the  region  of  swamp  and  bayou.  The 
habitations  of  man  were  at  hand,  and  when 
at  last  the  dug-out  was  run  in  fo  a  plantation 
landing,  and  Kenneth  Gordon  was  released 
from  his  cramped  posture  in  that  plebeian 

276 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

craft,  lie  felt  so  averse  to  his  mission,  such 
a  frivolous,  reluctant  distaste  that  he  mar 
velled  how  he  was  to  go  through  with  it  at 
all,  as  he  took  his  way  along  the  serpentine 
curves  of  the  "dirt  road,"  preceded  by  his 
guide,  still  with  eyes  averted  and  sullen  mien, 
silently  bearing  his  suit-case. 

A  few  turns,  and  suddenly  a  large  house 
came  into  view,  rearing  its  white  facade  to 
the  moonlight  in  the  midst  of  a  grove  of  mag 
nolia  trees,  immense  of  growth,  the  glossy 
leaves  seeming  a-drip  with  lustre  as  with 
dew.  The  flight  of  steps  and  the  wide  ver 
anda  were  here  cumbered  with  potted  ferns 
and  foliage  plants  as  elsewhere,  and  gave  the 
first  suggestion  of  conformity  to  the  ways  of 
the  world  that  the  adventure  had  yet  borne. 
The  long,  broad,  silent  hall  into  which  he  was 
ushered,  lighted  only  by  a  kerosene  hand- 
lamp  which  the  servant  carried  as  he  led  the 
way,  the  stairs  which  the  guest  ascended  in 
a  mansion  of  unconscious  strangers,  all  had 
eerie  intimations,  and  the  comfort  and  seclu 
sion  of  the  room  assigned  to  Gordon  was  wel 
come  indeed  to  him;  for,  argue  as  he  might, 
he  was  conscious  of  a  continuous  and  acute 
nervous  strain.  He  had  had  a  shock,  he  was 

277 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

irritably  aware,  and  he  would  be  glad  of  rest 
and  quiet. 

It  was  a  large,  square,  comfortable  room 
in  one  of  the  wings,  overlooking  a  garden, 
which  sent  up  a  delectable  blend  of  fragrance 
and  dew  through  the  white  muslin  curtains  at 
the  long,  broad  windows,  standing  open  to 
the  night.  On  a  table,  draped  with  the  in 
evitable  "drawn-work"  of  civilization,  stood 
a  lamp  of  finer  fashion,  but  no  better  illu 
minating  facilities,  than  the  one  carried  off 
by  the  darky,  who  had  made  great  haste  to 
leave  the  room,  and  who  had  not  lifted  his 
eyes  toward  the  ill-omened  "ghost-seer"  nor 
spoken  a  word  since  Gordon  had  blurted  out 
his  vision  on  Bogue  Holauba.  This  table 
also  bore  a  tray  with  crackers  and  sand 
wiches  and  a  decanter  of  sherry,  which 
genially  intimated  hospitable  forethought. 
The  bed  was  a  big  four-poster,  which  no  be- 
dizenment  could  bring  within  the  fashion  of 
the  day.  Gordon  had  a  moment's  poignant  re 
coil  from  the  darkness,  the  strangeness,  the 
recollection  of  the  inexplicable  apparition  he 
had  witnessed,  as  his  head  sank  on  the  pillow, 
embroidered  after  the  latest  fads. 

He  could  see  through  the  open  window 

278 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

that  the  moon  was  down  at  last  and  the 
world  abandoned  to  gloom.  He  heard  from 
out  some  neighboring  swamp  the  wild  lament 
ing  cry  of  the  crane;  and  then,  listen  as  he 
might,  the  night  had  lapsed  to  silence,  and 
the  human  hearts  in  this  house,  all  unknown 
to  him,  were  as  unimagined,  as  unrelated, 
as  unresponsive,  as  if  instead  of  a  living, 
breathing  home  he  lay  in  some  mute  city  of 
the  dead. 

The  next  moment,  as  it  seemed,  a  sky  as 
richly  azure  as  the  boasted  heavens  of  Italy 
filled  his  vision  as  he  lifted  himself  on  his 
elbow.  A  splendid,  creamy,  magnolia  bloom 
was  swaying  in  the  breeze,  almost  touching 
the  window-sill.  There  was  a  subdued,  re 
spectful  knocking  at  the  door,  which  Gordon 
had  a  vague  idea  that  he  had  heard  before 
this  morning,  preceding  the  announcement 
that  breakfast  was  waiting.  Tardily  mind 
ful  of  his  obligations  as  guest,  he  made  all  the 
speed  possible  in  his  toilet,  and  soon  issued 
into  the  hall,  following  the  sound  of  voices 
through  the  open  doors,  which  led  him  pres 
ently  to  the  threshold  of  the  breakfast-room. 

There  were  two  ladies  at  the  table,  one  of 
venerable  aspect,  with  short,  white  curls,  held 

279 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

from  her  face  by  side-combs,  a  modish  break 
fast-cap,  and  a  morning-gown  of  thin  gray 
silk.  The  other  was  young  enough  to  be  her 
daughter,  as  indeed  she  was,  dressed  in  deep 
mourning.  Eising  instantly  from  her  place 
as  hostess  behind  the  silver  service,  she  ex 
tended  her  hand  to  the  stranger. 

"Mr.  Gordon,  is  it  not?  I  was  afraid 
you  would  arrive  during  the  night.  Mercy! 
So  uncomfortable!  How  good  of  you  to 
come — yes,  indeed." 

She  sank  into  her  chair  again,  pressing 
her  black-bordered  handkerchief  to  her  dark 
eyes,  which  seemed  to  Gordon  singularly 
dry,  round,  and  glossy — suggestive  of  chest 
nuts,  in  fact.  ' '  So  good  of  you  to  come, ' '  she 
repeated,  i  i  to  the  house  of  mourning !  Very 
few  people  have  any  talent  for  woe,  Mr.  Gor 
don.  These  rooms  have  housed  many  guests, 
but  not  to  weep  with  us.  The  stricken  deer 
must  weep  alone." 

She  fell  to  hysterical  sobbing,  which  her 
mother  interrupted  by  a  remonstrant  "My 
dear,  my  dear!"  A  blond  young  man  with 
a  florid  cheek  and  a  laughing  blue  eye,  who 
sat  in  an  easy  posture  at  the  foot  of  the  table, 
aided  the  diversion  of  interest.  "Won't  you 

280 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

introduce  me,  Mrs.  Keene! — or  must  I  take 
the  opportunity  to  tell  Mr.  Gordon  that  I  am 
Dr.  Eigdon,  very  much  at  his  service. ' ' 

" Mercy!  yes,  yes,  indeed!"  Mrs.  Keene 
acceded  as  the  two  young  men  shook  hands ; 
then,  evidently  perturbed  by  her  lack  of  cere 
mony,  she  exclaimed  pettishly,  "  Where  is 
Geraldine  1  She  always  sees  to  it  that  every 
body  knows  everybody,  and  that  everybody  is 
served  at  a  reception  or  a  tea,  I  never  have 
to  think  of  such  things  if  she  is  in  the  house." 

The  allusions  seemed  to  Gordon  a  bit  in 
congruous  with  the  recent  heavy  affliction  of 
the  household.  The  accuracy  with  which  the 
waves  of  red  hair,  of  a  rich  tint  that  sug 
gested  chemicals,  undulated  about  the  brow 
of  the  widow,  the  art  with  which  the  mourn 
ing-gown  brought  out  all  the  best  points  and 
subdued  the  defects  of  a  somewhat  clumsy 
figure,  the  suspicion  of  a  cosmetic's  aid  in  a 
dark  line,  scarcely  perceptible  yet  amply 
effective,  under  the  prominent  eyes,  all  con 
tributed  to  the  determination  of  a  lady  of 
forty-five  years  of  age  to  look  thirty. 

"Geraldine  is  always  late  for  breakfast, 
but  surely  she  ought  to  be  down  by  this 
time,"  Mrs.  Brinn  said,  with  as  much  acri- 

281 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

mony  as  a  mild  old  lady  could  well  compass. 

"Oh,  Geraldine  reads  half  the  night,"  ex 
plained  Mrs.  Keene.  "Such  an  injurious 
habit!  Don't  you  think  so,  Mr.  Gordon !" 

"Oh,  she  is  all  right,"  expostulated  the 
young  physician. 

"Geraldine  has  a  constitution  of  iron,  I 
know,"  Mrs.  Keene  admitted.  "But,  mercy! 
—to  live  in  books,  Mr.  Gordon.  Now,  I 
always  wanted  to  live  in  life, — in  the  world ! 
I  used  to  tell  Mr.  Keene" — even  she  stum 
bled  a  trifle  in  naming  the  so  recent  dead. 
"I  used  to  tell  him  that  he  had  buried  the 
best  years  of  my  life  down  here  in  the  swamp 
on  the  plantation." 

"Pleasant  for  Mr.  Keene,"  Gordon 
thought. 

"I  wanted  to  live  in  life,"  reiterated  Mrs. 
Keene.  "What  is  a  glimpse  of  New  Orleans 
or  the  White  Sulphur  Springs  once  in  a 
great  while ! ' 9 

"  'This  world  is  but  a  fleeting  show,'  ' 
quoted  Eigdon,  with  a  palpable   effort  to 
laugh  off  the  inappropriate  subject. 

"Oh,  that  is  what  people  always  tell  the 
restricted,  especially  when  they  are  them 
selves  drinking  the  wine-cup  to  the  bottom." 

282 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

"And  finding  the  lees  bitter/'  said 
Eigdon. 

The  widow  gave  an  offhand  gesture. 
"You  learned  that  argument  from  Geraldine 
— he  is  nothing  but  an  echo  of  Geraldine,  Mr. 
Gordon — now,  isn't  he,  Mamma?"  she  ap 
pealed  directly  to  Mrs.  Brinn. 

"He  seems  to  have  a  great  respect  for 
Geraldine 's  opinion,"  said  Mrs.  Brinn 
primly. 

"If  I  may  ask,  who  is  this  lady  who 
seems  to  give  the  law  to  the  community?"  in 
quired  Gordon,  thinking  it  appropriate  to 
show,  and  really  beginning  to  feel,  an  in 
terest  in  the  personnel  of  the  entourage. 
"Am  I  related  to  her,  as  well  as  to  Mr. 
Keener  " 

"No;  Geraldine  is  one  of  the  Norris 
family — intimate  friends  of  ours,  but  not 
relatives.  She  often  visits  here,  and  in  my 
affliction  and  loneliness  I  begged  her  to  come 
and  stay  for  several  weeks." 

Not  to  be  related  to  the  all-powerful  Ger 
aldine  was  something  of  a  disappointment, 
for  although  Gordon  had  little  sentiment  or 
ideality  in  his  mental  and  moral  system,  one 
of  his  few  emotional  susceptibilities  lay  in 

283 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

his  family  pride  and  clannish  spirit.  He  felt 
for  his  own,  and  he  was  touched  in  his  chief 
altruistic  possibility  in  the  appeal  that  had 
brought  him  hither.  To  his  amazement,  Mr. 
Keene,  a  second  cousin  whom  he  had  seldom 
even  seen,  had  named  him  executor  of  his 
will,  without  bond,  and  in  a  letter  written  in 
the  last  illness,  reaching  its  destination  in 
deed  after  the  writer's  death,  had  besought 
that  Gordon  would  be  gracious  enough  to  act, 
striking  a  crafty  note  in  urging  the  ties  of 
consanguinity. 

But  for  this  plea  Gordon  would  have 
doubtless  declined  on  the  score  of  pressure  of 
business  of  his  own.  There  were  no  nearer 
relatives,  however,  and  with  a  sense  of  obli 
gation  at  war  with  a  restive  indisposition, 
Gordon  had  come  in  person  to  this  remote 
region  to  offer  the  will  for  probate,  and  to 
take  charge  of  the  important  papers  and  per 
sonal  property  of  the  deceased.  A  simple 
matter  it  would  prove,  he  fancied.  There 
was  no  great  estate,  and  probably  but  few 
business  complications. 

" Going  home,  Dr.  George?"  his  hostess 
asked  as  the  young  physician  made  his  ex 
cuses  for  quitting  the  table  before  the  con 
clusion  of  the  meal. 

284 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

"Dr.  Eigdon  is  not  staying  in  the  house, 
then?"  Gordon  queried  as  the  door  closed 
upon  him,  addressing  the  remark  to  the  old 
lady  hy  way  of  politely  including  her  in  the 
conversation. 

"No,  he  is  a  neighbor  of  ours — a  close  and 
constant  friend  to  us."  Mrs.  Brinn  spoke  as 
with  grateful  appreciation. 

Mrs.  Keene  took  a  different  view.  "He 
just  hangs  about  here  on  Geraldine's  ac 
count,  ' '  she  said.  ' '  He  happens  to  be  here  to 
day  because  last  night  she  took  a  notion  that 
he  must  go  all  the  way  to  Bogue  Holauba  to 
meet  you,  if  the  train  should  stop  at  the  sta 
tion  above;  but  he  was  called  off  to  attend 
a  severe  case  of  ptomaine  poisoning." 

"And  did  the  man  die?"  Mrs.  Brinn 
asked,  with  a  sort  of  soft  awe. 

"Mercy!  I  declare  I  forgot  to  ask  him  if 
the  man  died  or  not, ' '  exclaimed  Mrs.  Keene. 
"But  that  was  the  reason  that  only  a  servant 
was  sent  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Gordon.  The 
doctor  looked  in  this  morning  to  learn  if  you 
had  arrived  safely,  and  we  made  him  stay  to 
breakfast  with  us." 

Gordon  was  regretting  that  he  had  let  him 
depart  so  suddenly 

285 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

"I  thought  perhaps,  as  he  seems  so  famil 
iar  with  the  place  he  might  show  me  where 
Mr.  Keene  kept  his  papers.  I  ought  to  have 
them  in  hand  at  once."  Mrs.  Keene  remem 
bered  to  press  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes, 
and  Gordon  hastily  added,  "  Since  Dr.  Big- 
don  is  gone,  perhaps  this  lady — what  is  her 
name? — Geraldine — could  save  you  the 
trouble." 

" Mercy,  yes!"  she  declared  emphatically. 
"For  I  really  do  not  know  where  to  begin  to 
look.  Geraldine  will  know  or  guess.  I'll  go 
straight  and  rouse  Geraldine  out  of  bed." 

She  preceded  Gordon  into  the  hall,  and, 
flinging  over  her  shoulder  the  admonition, 
"Make  yourself  at  home,  I  beg,"  ran  lightly 
up  the  stairs. 

Meantime  Gordon  strolled  to  the  broad 
front  door  that  stood  open  from  morning  to 
night,  winter  and  summer,  and  paused  there 
to  light  his  cigar.  All  his  characteristics 
were  accented  in  the  lustre  of  the  vivid  day, 
albeit  for  the  most  part  they  were  of  a  null, 
negative  tendency,  for  he  had  an  inexpres 
sive,  impersonal  manner  and  a  sort  of  aloof, 
reserved  dignity.  His  outward  aspect 

286 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

seemed  rather  the  affair  of  his  up-to-date 
metropolitan  tailor  and  barber  than  any  ex 
ponent  of  his  character  and  mind.  He  was 
not  much  beyond  thirty  years  of  age,  and 
his  straight,  fine,  dark  hair  was  worn  at  the 
temples  more  by  the  fluctuations  of'  stocks 
than  the  ravages  of  time.  He  was  pale,  of 
medium  height,  and  slight  of  build;  he  list 
ened  with  a  grave,  deliberate  attention  and 
an  inscrutable  gray  eye,  very  steady,  coolly 
observant,  an  appreciable  asset  in  the 
brokerage  business.  He  was  all  unaccus 
tomed  to  the  waste  of  time,  and  it  was  with 
no  slight  degree  of  impatience  that  he  looked 
about  him. 

The  magnolia  grove  filled  the  space  to  the 
half-seen  gate  in  front  of  the  house,  but  away 
on  either  side  were  long  vistas.  To  the  right 
the  river  was  visible,  and,  being  one  of  the 
great  bends  of  the  stream,  it  seemed  to  run 
directly  to  the  west,  the  prospect  only  limited 
by  the  horizon  line.  On  the  other  side,  a  glare, 
dazzlingly  white  in  the  sun,  proclaimed  the 
cotton-fields.  Afar  the  gin-house  showed, 
with  its  smoke-stack,  like  an  obeliscal  column, 
from  which  issued  heavy  coils  of  vapor,  and 

287 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

occasionally  came  the  raucous  grating  of  a 
screw,  telling  that  the  baler  was  at  work. 
Interspersed  throughout  the  fields  were  the 
busy  cotton-pickers,  and  now  and  again  rose 
snatches  of  song  as  they  heaped  the  great 
baskets  in  the  turn-rows. 

Within  the  purlieus  of  the  inclosure  about 
the  mansion  there  was  no  stir  of  industry, 
no  sign  of  life,  save  indeed  an  old  hound 
lying  on  the  veranda  steps,  looking  up  with 
great,  liquid,  sherry-tinted  eyes  at  the 
stranger,  and,  though  wheezing  a  wish  to  lick 
his  hand,  unable  to  muster  the  energy  to  rise. 

After  an  interval  of  a  few  moments  Gor 
don  turned  within.  He  felt  that  he  must 
forthwith  get  at  the  papers  and  set  this  little 
matter  in  order.  He  paused  baffled  at  the 
door  of  the  parlor,  where  satin  damask  and 
rosewood  furniture,  lace  curtains  and  drawn 
shades,  held  out  no  promise  of  repositories  of 
business  papers.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the 
hall  was  a  sitting-room  that  bore  evidence  of 
constant  use.  Here  was  a  desk  of  the  old- 
fashioned  kind,  with  a  bookcase  as  a  super 
structure,  and  a  writing-table  stood  in  the 
centre  of  the  floor,  equipped  with  a  number 
of  drawers  which  .were  all  locked,  as  a  tenta- 

288 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

tive  touch  soon  told.  He  had  not  concluded 
its  examination  when  a  step  and  rustle  be 
hind  him  betokened  a  sudden  entrance. 

"Miss  Geraldine  Norris!"  a  voice  broke 
upon  the  air, — a  voice  that  he  had  not  before 
heard,  and  he  turned  abruptly  to  greet  the 
lady  as  she  formally  introduced  herself. 

A  veritable  Titania  she  seemed  as  she 
swayed  in  the  doorway.  She  was  a  little 
thing,  delicately  built,  slender  yet  not  thin, 
with  lustrous  golden  hair,  large,  well-opened, 
dark  blue  eyes,  a  complexion  daintily  white 
and  roseate, — a  fairy-like  presence  indeed, 
but  with  a  prosaic,  matter-of-fact  manner 
and  a  dogmatic  pose  of  laying  down  the  law. 

Gordon  could  never  have  imagined  him 
self  so  disconcerted  as  when  she  advanced 
upon  him  with  the  caustic  query,  "Why  did 
you  not  ask  Mrs.  Keene  for  her  husband's 
keys  ?  Surely  that  is  simple  enough ! ' '  She 
flung  a  bunch  of  keys  on  a  steel  ring  down 
upon  the  table.  "Heavens!  to  be  roused 
from  my  well-earned  slumbers  at  daybreak 
to  solve  this  problem!  ' Hurry!  Hurry! 
Hurry!'  "  She  mimicked  Mrs.  Keene 's 
urgency,  then  broke  out  laughing. 

"Now,"  she  demanded,  all  unaffected  by 

19  289 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

his  mien  of  surprised  and  offended  dignity, 
"do  you  think  yourself  equal  to  the  task  of 
fitting  these  keys, — or  shall  I  lend  you  my 
strong  right  arm?" 

It  is  to  be  doubted  if  Gordon  had  ever 
experienced  such  open  ridicule  as  when  she 
came  smiling  up  to  the  table,  drawing  back 
the  sleeve  of  her  gown  from  her  delicate 
dimpled  wrist.  She  wore  a  white  dress,  such 
as  one  never  sees  save  in  that  Southern 
country,  so  softly  sheer,  falling  in  such  grace 
ful,  floating  lines,  with  a  deep,  plain  hem  and 
no  touch  of  garniture  save,  perhaps,  an  edge 
of  old  lace  on  the  surplice  neck.  The  cut  of 
the  dress  showed  a  triangular  section  of  her 
soft  white  chest  and  all  the  firm  modelling  of 
her  throat  and  chin.  It  was  evidently  not 
a  new  gown,  for  a  rent  in  one  of  the  sleeves 
had  been  sewed  up  somewhat  too  obviously, 
and  there  was  a  darn  on  the  shoulder  where  a 
rose-bush  had  snagged  the  fabric.  A  belt 
of  black  velvet,  with  long,  floating  sash-ends, 
was  about  her  waist,  and  a  band  of  black 
velvet  held  in  place  her  shining  hair. 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  been  the  occasion 
of  disturbing  you,"  he  said  with  stiff  for 
mality,  "and  I  am  very  much  obliged,  cer 
tainly,"  he  added,  as  he  took  up  the  keys. 

290 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

"I  may  consider  myself  dismissed  from 
the  presence?"  she  asked  saucily.  "Then,  I 
will  permit  myself  a  cup  of  chocolate  and 
a  roll,  and  be  ready  for  any  further  com 
mands.  ' ' 

She  frisked  out  of  the  door,  and,  frown 
ing  heavily,  he  sat  down  to  the  table  and 
opened  the  top-drawer,  which  yielded  in 
stantly  to  the  first  key  that  he  selected. 

The  first  paper,  too,  on  which  he  laid  his 
hand  was  the  will,  signed  and  witnessed, 
regularly  executed,  all  its  provisions  seem 
ing,  as  he  glanced  through  it,  reasonable  and 
feasible.  As  he  laid  it  aside,  he  experienced 
the  business  man's  satisfaction  with  a  docu 
ment  duly  capable  of  the  ends  desired.  Then 
he  opened  with  a  sudden  flicker  of  curiosity  a 
bulky  envelope  placed  with  the  will  and  ad 
dressed  to  himself.  He  read  it  through,  the 
natural  interest  on  his  face  succeeded  by 
amazement,  increasing  gradually  to  fear,  the 
chill  drops  starting  from  every  pore.  He 
had  grown  ghastly  white  before  he  had  con 
cluded  the  perusal,  and  for  a  long  time  he  sat 
as  motionless  as  if  turned  to  stone. 

The  September  day  glowed  outside  in 
sumptuous  splendor.  A  glad  wind  sprang 
up  and  sped  afield.  Geraldine,  her  break- 

291 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

fast  finished,  a  broad  hat  canted  down  over 
her  eyes,  rushed  through  the  hall  as  noisily  as 
a  boy,  prodded  up  the  old  hound,  and  ran  him 
a  race  around  the  semicircle  of  the  drive.  A 
trained  hound  he  had  been  in  his  youth,  and 
he  was  wont  to  conceal  and  deny  certain  an 
cient  accomplishments.  But  even  he  realized 
that  it  was  waste  of  breath  to  say  nay  to  the 
persistent  Geraldine.  He  resigned  himself 
to  go  through  all  his  repertoire, — was  a  dead 
dog,  begged,  leaped  a  stick  back  and  forth, 
went  lame,  and  in  his  newly  awakened  in 
terest  performed  several  tricks  of  which  she 
had  been  unaware.  Her  joyful  cries  of  com 
mendation — "Played  an  encore!  an  encore! 
He  did,  he  did !  Cutest  old  dog  in  the  United 
States !"  caught  Mrs.  Keene's  attention. 

"  Geraldine, ' '  she  screamed  from  an 
upper  window,  "come  in  out  of  the  sun! 
You  will  have  a  sun- stroke — and  ruin  your 
complexion  besides !  You  know  you  ought  to 
be  helping  that  man  with  those  papers, — 
he  won't  be  able  to  do  anything  without  you !" 
Her  voice  quavered  on  the  last  words,  as  if 
she  suddenly  realized  "that  man"  might 
overhear  her, — as  indeed  he  did.  But  he 
made  no  sign.  He  sat  still,  stultified  and 

292 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

stony,   silently  gazing  at  the  paper  in  his 
hands. 

When  luncheon  was  announced,  Gordon 
asked  to  have  something  light  sent  in  to  him, 
as  he  wished  not  to  be  disturbed  in  his  in 
vestigation  of  the  documents.  He  had  scant 
need  to  apprehend  interruption,  however, 
while  the  long  afternoon  wore  gradually 
away.  The  universal  Southern  siesta  was 
on,  and  the  somnolent  mansion  was  like  the 
castle  of  Sleeping  Beauty.  The  ladies  had 
sought  their  apartments  and  the  downy 
couches;  the  cook,  on  a  shady  bench  under 
the  trellis,  nodded  as  she  seeded  the  raisins 
for  the  frozen  pudding  of  the  six-o'clock 
dinner ;  the  waiter  had  succumbed  in  clearing 
the  lunch-table  and  made  mesmeric  passes 
with  the  dish-rag  in  a  fantasy  of  washing  the 
plates;  the  stable-boy  slumbered  in  the  hay, 
high  in  the  loft,  while  the  fat  old  coachman, 
with  a  chamois-skin  in  his  hand,  dozed  as 
he  sat  on  the  step  of  the  surrey,  between  the 
fenders;  the  old  dog  snored  on  the  veranda 
floor,  and  Mrs.  Keene's  special  attendant, 
who  was  really  more  a  seamstress  than  a 
ladies'  maid,  dreamed  that  for  some  mys 
terious  reason  she  could  not  thread  a  needle 

293 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

to  fashion  in  a  vast  hurry  the  second  mourn 
ing  of  her  employer,  who  she  imagined  would 
call  for  it  within  a  week ! 

Outside  the  charmed  precincts  of  this 
Castle  Indolence,  the  busy  cotton-pickers 
knew  no  pause  nor  stay.  The  steam-engine 
at  the  gin  panted  throughout  all  the  long 
hot  hours,  the  baler  squealed  and  rasped  and 
groaned,  as  it  bound  up  the  product  into 
marketable  compass,  but  there  was  no  one 
waking  near  enough  to  note  how  the  guest  of 
the  mansion  was  pacing  the  floor  in  a  stress 
of  nervous  excitement,  and  to  comment  on 
the  fact. 

Toward  isunset,  a  sudden  commotion 
roused  the  slumbrous  place.  There  had  been 
an  accident  at  the  gin, — a  boy  had  been 
caught  in  the  machinery  and  variously 
mangled.  Dr.  George  Eigdon  had  been 
called  and  had  promptly  sewed  up  the 
wounds.  A  runner  had  been  sent  to  the 
mansion  for  bandages,  brandy,  fresh  cloth 
ing,  and  sundry  other  collateral  necessities 
of  the  surgery,  and  the  news  had  thrown  the 
house  into  unwonted  excitement. 

"The  boy  won't  die,  then?"  Geraldine 
asked  of  a  second  messenger,  as  he  stood  by 

294 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

the  steps  of  the  veranda,  waiting  for  the  de 
sired  commodities. 

"Lawdy, — no,  ma'am!  He  is  as  good  as 
new!  Doc'  George,  he  fix  him  up." 

Gordon,  whom  the  tumult  had  summoned 
forth  from  his  absorptions,  noted  Geraldine's 
triumphant  laugh  as  she  received  this  report, 
the  toss  of  her  spirited  little  head,  the  light 
in  her  dark  blue  eyes,  deepening  to  sapphire 
richness,  her  obvious  pride  in  the  skill,  the 
humanitarian  achievement,  of  her  lover. 
Dr.  George  must  be  due  here  this  evening,  he 
fancied.  For  she  was  all  freshly  bedight ;  her 
gown  was  embellished  with  delicate  laces,  and 
its  faint  green  hue  gave  her  the  aspect  of 
some  water-sprite,  posed  against  that  broad 
expanse  of  the  Mississippi  Eiver,  that  was 
itself  of  a  jade  tint  reflected  from  a  green 
and  amber  sky;  at  the  low  horizon  line  the 
vermilion  sun  was  sinking  into  its  swirling 
depths. 

Gordon  perceived  a  personal  opportunity 
in  the  prospect  of  this  guest  for  the  evening. 
He  must  have  counsel,  he  was  thinking.  He 
could  not  act  on  his  own  responsibility  in 
this  emergency  that  had  suddenly  confronted 
him.  He  was  still  too  overwhelmed  by  the 

295 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

strange  experience  he  had  encountered,  too 
shaken.  This  physician  was  a  man  of  in 
telligence,  of  skill  in  his  chosen  profession, 
necessarily  a  man  worth  while  in  many  ways. 
He  was  an  intimate  friend  of  the  Keene 
family,  and  might  the  more  heartily  lend  a 
helping  hand.  The  thought,  the  hope, 
cleared  Gordon's  brow,  but  still  the  impress 
of  the  stress  of  the  afternoon  was  so  marked 
that  the  girl  was  moved  to  comment  in  her 
brusque  way  as  they  stood  together  on  the 
cool,  fern-embowered  veranda. 

"Why,  Mr.  Gordon,"  she  exclaimed  in 
surprise,  "you  have  no  idea  how  strange 
you  look!  You  must  have  overworked 
awfully  this  afternoon.  Why,  you  look  as  if 
you  had  seen  a  ghost!" 

To  her  amazement,  he  recoiled  abruptly. 
Involuntarily,  he  passed  his  hand  over  his 
face,  as  if  seeking  to  obliterate  the  traces  she 
had  deciphered.  Then,  with  an  obvious 
effort,  he  recovered  a  show  of  equanimity; 
he  declared  that  it  was  only  because  he  was 
so  tousled  in  contrast  with  her  fresh  finery 
that  she  thought  he  looked  supernaturally 
horrible!  He  would  go  upstairs  forthwith 
and  array  himself  anew. 

296 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

Gordon  proved  himself  a  true  prophet, 
for  Kigdon  came  to  dine.  With  the  post 
prandial  cigars,  the  two  gentlemen,  at  Gor 
don's  suggestion,  repaired  to  the  sitting- 
room  to  smoke,  instead  of  joining  their 
hostess  on  the  veranda,  where  tobacco  was 
never  interdicted.  Indeed,  they  did  not  come 
forth  thence  for  nearly  two  hours,  and  were 
palpably  embarrassed  when  Geraldine  de 
clared  in  bewilderment,  gazing  at  them  in  the 
lamplight  that  fell  from  within,  through  one 
of  the  great  windows,  that  now  both  looked 
as  if  they  had  seen  a  ghost ! 

Despite  their  efforts  to  sustain  the  in 
terest  of  the  conversation,  they  were  obvi 
ously  distrait,  and  had  a  proclivity  to  fall 
into  sudden  silences,  and  Mrs.  Keene  found 
them  amazingly  unresponsive  and  dull. 
Thus  it  was  that  she  rose  as  if  to  retire  for 
the  night  while  the  hour  was  still  early.  In 
fact,  she  intended  to  utilize  the  opportunity 
to  have  some  dresses  of  the  first  mourning 
outfit  tried  on,  for  which  the  patient  maid 
was  now  awaiting  her. 

"I  leave  you  a  charming  substitute/'  she 
said  in  making  her  excuses.  "Geraldine 
need  not  come  in  yet — it  is  not  late." 

297 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

Her  withdrawal  seemed  to  give  a  fresh 
impetus  to  some  impulse  with  which  Eigdon 
had  been  temporizing.  He  recurred  to  it 
at  once.  "You  contemplate  giving  it  to  the 
public,7'  he  said  to  Gordon;  "why  not  try 
its  effect  on  a  disinterested  listener  first,  and 
judge  from  that?" 

Gordon  assented  with  an  extreme  gravity 
that  surprised  Geraldine;  then  Kigdon  hesi 
tated,  evidently  scarcely  knowing  how  to 
begin.  He  looked  vaguely  at  the  moon  riding 
high  in  the  heavens  above  the  long,  broad 
expanse  of  the  Mississippi  and  the  darkling 
forests  on  either  hand.  Sometimes  a  shaft 
of  light,  a  sudden  luminous  glister,  betok 
ened  the  motion  of  the  currents  gliding  in 
the  sheen.  "Last  night,"  he  said  in  a  tense, 
bated  voice — "last  night  Mr.  Gordon  saw 
the  phantom  of  Bogue  Holauba,  Stop! 
Hush!" — for  the  girl  had  sprung  half 
screaming  from  her  chair.  "This  is  impor 
tant."  He  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm  to  de 
tain  her.  "We  want  you  to  help  us!" 

"Help  you!  Whyr  you  scare  me  to 
death ! ' >  She  had  paused,  but  stood  trembling 
from  head  to  foot. 

"There  is  something  explained  in  one  of 

298 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

Mr.  Keene's  papers, — addressed  to  Mr.  Gor 
don  ;  and  we  have  been  much  startled  by  the 
coincidence  of  his — his  vision." 

"Did  he  see — really ?"  Geraldine 

had  sunk  back  in  her  chair,  her  face  ghastly 
pale. 

t '  Of  course  it  must  be  some  illusion, ' '  said 
Eigdon.  "The  effect  of  the  mist,  per 
haps " 

"Only,  there  was  no  mist,"  said  Gordon. 

"Perhaps  a  snag  waving  in  the  wind." 

"Only,  there  was  no  wind." 

"Perhaps  a  snag  tossing  in  the  motion  of 
the  water, — at  all  events,  you  can 't  say  there 
was  no  water."  Dr.  Eigdon  glanced  at  Gor 
don  with  a  genial  smile. 

"Mighty  little  water  for  the  Mississippi," 
Gordon  sought  to  respond  in  the  same  key. 

"You  know  the  record  of  these  appari 
tions."  Leaning  forward,  one  arm  on  his 
knee,  the  document  in  question  in  his  hand, 
Eigdon  looked  up  into  Geraldine 's  pale 
face.  "In  the  old  days  there  used  to  be  a 
sort  of  water-gypsy,  with  a  queer  little  trad 
ing-boat  that  plied  the  region  of  the  bends — 
a  queer  little  old  man,  too — Polish,  I  think, 
foreign  certainly — and  the  butt  of  all  the 

299 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

wags  alongshore,  at  the  stores  and  the  wood- 
yards,  the  cotton-sheds  and  the  wharf -boats. 
By  some  accident,  it  was  thought,  the  boat 
got  away  when  he  was  befuddled  with  drink 
in  a  wood-chopper 's  cabin — a  stout,  trig  little 
craft  it  was!  When  he  found  it  was  gone, 
he  was  wild,  for  although  he  saw  it  afloat  at 
a  considerable  distance  down  the  Mississippi, 
it  suddenly  disappeared  near  Bogue  Holauba, 
cargo  and  all.  No  trace  of  its  fate  was  ever 
discovered.  He  haunted  these  banks  then — 
whatever  he  may  have  done  since — scream 
ing  out  his  woes  for  his  losses,  and  his  rage 
and  curses  on  the  miscreants  who  had  set 
the  craft  adrift — for  he  fully  believed  it  was 
done  in  malice — beating  his  breast  and  tear 
ing  his  hair.  The  Civil  War  came  on  pres 
ently,  and  the  man  was  lost  sight  of  in  the 
national  commotions.  No  one  thought  of 
him  again  till  suddenly  something — an  ap 
parition,  an  illusion,  the  semblance  of  a  man 
— began  to  patrol  the  banks  of  Bogue 
Holauba,  and  beat  its  breast  and  tear  its  hair 
and  bewail  its  woes  in  pantomime,  and  set 
the  whole  country-side  aghast,  for  always 
disasters  follow  its  return." 

"  And    how    do    you    account    f or ,  that 

300 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

phase!"  asked  Gordon,  obviously  steadying 
his  voice  by  an  effort  of  the  will. 

"The  apparition  always  shows  up  at  low 
water, — the  disasters  are  usually  typhoid, " 
replied  the  physician. 

"Mr.  Keene  died  from  malaria,"  Geral- 
dine  murmured  musingly. 

The  two  men  glanced  significantly  at  each 
other.  Then  Eigd on  resumed :  "I  mustered 
the  hardihood  on  one  occasion  to  row  up  to 
the  bank  of  Bogue  Holauba  for  a  closer  sur 
vey.  The  thing  vanished  on  my  approach. 
There  was  a  snag  hard  by,  fast  anchored  in 
the  bottom  of  the  Bogue.  It  played  slackly 
to  and  fro  with  the  current,  but  I  could  not 
see  any  way  by  which  it  or  its  shadow  could 
have  produced  the  illusion." 

"Is  this  what  you  had  to  tell  me!"  de 
manded  Geraldine  pertinently.  "I  knew  all 
that  already." 

"No,  no,"  replied  the  Doctor  reluctantly. 
"Will  you  tell  it,  Mr.  Gordon,  or  shall  I!" 

"You,  by  all  means,  if  you  will,"  said  Gor 
don  gloomily.  "God  knows  I  should  be  glad 
never  to  speak  of  it." 

"Well,"  Eigdon  began  slowly,  "Mr.  Gor 
don  was  made  by  his  cousin  Jasper  Keene 

301 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

not  only  the  executor  of  his  will,  but  the  re 
pository  of  a  certain  confession,  which  he 
may  destroy  or  make  public  as  he  sees  proper. 
It  seems  that  in  Mr.  Keene  's  gay  young  days, 
running  wild  in  his  vacation  from  college  on 
a  secluded  plantation,  he  often  lacked  con 
genial  companionship,  and  he  fell  in  with  an 
uncouth  fellow  of  a  lower  social  grade,  who 
led  him  into  much  detrimental  adventure. 
Among  other  incidents  of  very  poor  fun,  the 
two  were  notable  in  hectoring  and  guying  the 
old  Polish  trader,  who,  when  drunk  on  mean 
whisky  as  he  often  was,  grew  violent  and 
antagonistic.  He  went  very  far  in  his  de 
nunciations  one  fatal  night,  and  by  way  of 
playing  him  a  trick  in  return,  they  set  his 
boat  adrift  by  cutting  the  rope  that  tied  the 
craft  to  a  tree  on  the  bank.  The  confession 
states  that  they  supposed  the  owner  was  then 
aboard  and  would  suffer  no  greater  hardship 
than  having  to  use  the  sweeps  with  con 
siderable  energy  to  row  her  in  to  a  landing 
again.  They  were  genuinely  horrified  when 
he  came  running  down  the  bank,  both  arms 
out-stretched,  crying  out  that  his  all,  his  all 
was  floating  away  on  that  tumultuo'us,  merci 
less  tide.  Before  any  skiff  could  be 

302 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

launched,  before  any  effort  could  be  made  to 
reach  the  trading-boat,  she  suddenly  disap 
peared.  The  Mississippi  was  at  flood  height, 
and  it  was  thought  that  the  boat  struck  some 
drifting  obstruction,  swamped,  and  went 
down  in  deep  water.  The  agents  in  this  dis 
aster  were  never  suspected,  but  as  soon  as 
Jasper  Keene  had  come  of  age,  and  had  com 
mand  of  any  means  of  his  own,  his  first  act 
was  to  have  an  exhaustive  search  made  for 
the  old  fellow,  with  a  view  of  financial  resti 
tution.  But  the  owner  of  the  trading-boat 
had  died,  spending  his  last  years  in  the  futile 
effort  to  obtain  the  insurance  money.  As  the 
little  he  had  left  was  never  claimed,  no  rep 
resentative  could  profit  by  the  restitution  that 
Jasper  Keene  had  planned,  and  he  found 
what  satisfaction  he  could  in  giving  it 
secretly  to  an  old  man's  charity.  Then  the 
phantom  began  to  take  his  revenge.  He  ap 
peared  on  the  banks  of  Bogue  Holauba,  and 
straightway  the  only  child  of  the  mansion 
sickened  and  died.  Mr.  Keene 's  first  wife 
died  after  the  second  apparition.  Either  it 
was  the  fancy  of  an  ailing  man,  or  perhaps 
the  general  report,  but  he  notes  that  the 
spectre  was  bewailing  its  woes  along  the 

303 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

banks  of  Bogue  Holauba  when  Jasper  Keene 
himself  was  stricken  by  an  illness  which  from 
the  first  he  felt  was  fatal." 

"I  remember — I  remember  it  was  said  at 
the  time,"  Geraldine  barely  whispered. 

"And  now  to  the  question:  he  leaves  it 
to  Mr.  Gordon  as  his  kinsman,  solicitous  of 
the  family  repute,  to  judge  whether  this  con 
fession  should  be  made  public  or  destroyed." 

"Does  he  state  any  reasons  for  making  it 
public?"  demanded  Geraldine,  taking  the 
document  and  glancing  through  its  pages. 

"Yes;  as  an  expiation  of  his  early  mis 
deeds  toward  this  man  and,  if  any  such  thing 
there  be,  to  placate  the  spirit  of  his  old 
enemy;  and  lastly  better  to  secure  his  peace 
with  his  Maker." 

"And  which  do  you  say  I"  Geraldine 
turned  an  eager,  spirited  face  toward  Gor 
don,  his  dejected  attitude  and  countenance 
distinctly  seen  in  the  light  from  the  lamp 
within  the  parlor,  on  a  table  close  to  the 
window. 

"I  frankly  admit  that  the  publication  of 
that  confession  would  humiliate  me  to  the 
ground,  but  I  fear  that  it  ought  to  be  given 
to  the  public,  as  he  obviously  desires!" 

304 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

"And  which  do  you  say?"  Geraldine  was 
standing  now,  and  swiftly  whirled  around 
toward  Dr.  Eigdon. 

"I  agree  with  Mr.  Gordon — much  against 
my  will — but  an  honest  confession  is  good 
for  the  soul!"  he  replied  ruefully. 

"You  infidels!"  she  exclaimed  tumultu- 
ously.  "You  have  not  one  atom  of  Christian 
faith  between  you !  To  imagine  thai  you  can 
strike  a  bargain  with  the  good  God  by  letting 
a  sick  theory  of  expiation  of  a  dying,  fever- 
distraught  creature  besmirch  his  repute  as 
a  man  and  a  gentleman,  make  his  whole  life 
seem  like  a  whited  sepulchre,  and  bring  his 
name  into  odium, — as  kind  a  man  as  ever 
lived, — and  you  know  it ! — as  honest,  and  gen 
erous,  and  whole-souled,  to  be  held  up  to 
scorn  and  humiliation  because  of  a  boyish 
prank  forty  years  ago,  that  precipitated  a 
disaster  never  intended, — bad  enough,  silly 
enough,  even  wicked  enough,  but  not  half  so 
bad  and  silly  and  wicked  as  you,  with  your 
moTbid  shrinking  from  moral  responsibility, 
and  your  ready  contributive  defamation  of 
character.  Tell  me,  you  men,  is  this  a  testa 
mentary  paper,  and  you  think  it  against  the 
law  to  destroy  it?" 

20  305 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  BOGUE  HOLAUBA 

"No,  no,  not  that,"  said  Bigdon. 

"No,  it  is  wholly  optional,"  declared  Gor 
don. 

"Then,  I  will  settle  the  question  for  you 
once  for  all,  you  wobblers!"  She  suddenly 
thrust  the  paper  into  the  chimney  of  the  lamp 
on  the  table  just  within  the  open  window, 
and  as  it  flared  up  she  flung  the  document 
forth,  blazing  in  every  fibre,  on  the  bare 
driveway  below  the  veranda.  ' '  And  now  you 
may  find,  as  best  you  can,  some  other  means 
of  exorcising  the  phantom  of  Bogue  Hol- 
auba!" 


306 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

He  yearned  for  a  sign  from  the  heavens. 
Could  one  intimation  be  vouchsafed  him, 
how  it  would  confirm  his  faltering  faith! 
Jubal  Kennedy  was  of  the  temperament  im 
pervious  to  spiritual  subtleties,  fain  to  reach 
conclusions  with  the  line  and  rule  of  mathe 
matical  demonstration.  Thus,  all  unrecep- 
tive,  he  looked  through  the  mountain  gap,  as 
through  some  stupendous  gateway,  on  the 
splendors  of  autumn;  the  vast  landscape 
glamorous  in  a  transparent  amethystine 
haze;  the  foliage  of  the  dense  primeval  wil 
derness  in  the  October  richness  of  red  and 
russet;  the  "  hunter's  moon,"  a  full  sphere  of 
illuminated  pearl,  high  in  the  blue  east  while 
yet  the  dull  vermilion  sun  swung  westering 
above  the  massive  purple  heights.  He  knew 
how  the  sap  was  sinking;  that  the  growths  of 
the  year  had  now  failed ;  presently  all  would 
be  shrouded  in  snow,  but  only  to  rise  again 
in  the  reassurance  of  vernal  quickening,  to 
glow  anew  in  the  fullness  of  bloom,  to  attain 
eventually  the  perfection  of  fruition.  And 
still  he  was  deaf  to  the  reiterated  analogy  of 

307 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

-,. 
death,  and  blind  to  the  immanent  obvious 

prophecy  of  resurrection  and  the  life  to  come. 
His  thoughts,  as  he  stood  on  this  jutting 
crag  in  Sunrise  Gap,  were  with  a  recent  * '  ex 
perience  meeting"  at  which  he  had  sought 
to  canvass  his  spiritual  needs.  His  de 
mand  of  a  sign  from  the  heavens  as  evi 
dence  of  the  existence  of  the  God  of  revela 
tion,  as  assurance  of  the  awakening  of  divine 
grace  in  the  human  heart,  as  actual  proof 
that  wistful  mortality  is  inherently  endowed 
with  immortality,  had  electrified  this  sym 
posium.  Though  it  was  fashionable,  so  to 
speak,  in  this  remote  cove  among  the  Great 
Smoky  Mountains,  to  be  repentant  in  rhetor 
ical  involutions  and  a  self-accuser  in  fine 
spun  interpretations  of  sin,  doubt,  or  more 
properly  an  eager  questioning,  a  desire  to 
possess  the  sacred  mysteries  of  religion,  was 
unprecedented.  Kennedy  was  a  proud  man, 
reticent,  reserved.  Although  the  old  parson, 
visibly  surprised  and  startled,  had  gently 
invited  his  full  confidence,  Kennedy  had 
hastily  swallowed  his  words,  as  best  he  might, 
perceiving  that  the  congregation  had  wholly 
misinterpreted  their  true  intent  and  that  cer- 

308 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

tain  gossips  had  an  unholy  relish  of  the 
sensation  they  had  caused. 

Thereafter  he  indulged  his  poignant  long 
ings  for  the  elucidation  of  the  veiled  truths 
only  when,  as  now,  he  wandered  deep  in  the 
woods  with  his  rifle  on  his  shoulder.  He 
could  not  have  said  to-day  that  he  was  nearer 
an  inspiration,  a  hope,  a  "leading,"  than 
heretofore,  but  as  he  stood  on  the  crag  it 
was  with  the  effect  of  a  dislocation  that  he 
was  torn  from  the  solemn  theme  by  an  in 
terruption  at  a  vital  crisis. 

The  faint  vibrations  of  a  violin  stirred 
the  reverent  hush  of  the  landscape  in  the 
blended  light  of  the  setting  sun  and  the 
1  'hunter's  moon."  Presently  the  musician 
came  into  view,  advancing  slowly  through  the 
aisles  of  the  red  autumn  foriest  A  rapt 
figure  it  was,  swaying  in  responsive  ecstasy 
with  the  rhythmic  cadence.  The  head,  with 
its  long,  blowsy  yellow  hair,  was  bowed  over 
the  dark  polished  wood  of  the  instrument; 
the  eyes  were  half  closed ;  the  right  arm,  de 
spite  the  eccentric  patches  on  the  sleeve  of 
the  old  brown- jeans  coat,  moved  with  free, 
elastic  gestures  in  all  the  liberties  of  a  prac- 

309 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

tieed  bowing.  If  he  saw  the  hunter  motion 
less  on  the  brink  of  the  crag,  the  fiddler  gave 
no  intimation.  His  every  faculty  was  as  if 
enthralled  by  the  swinging  iteration  of  the 
sweet  melancholy  melody,  rendered  with  a 
breadth  of  effect,  an  inspiration,  it  might 
almost  have  seemed,  incongruous  with  the  in 
firmities  of  the  crazy  old  fiddle.  He  was  like 
a  creature  under  the  sway  of  a  spell,  and  ap 
parently  drawn  by  this  dulcet  lure  of  the  en 
chantment  of  sound  was  the  odd  procession 
that  trailed  silently  after  him  through  these 
deep  mountain  fastnesses. 

A  woman  came  first,  arrayed  in  a  ragged 
purple  skirt  and  a  yellow  blouse  open  at  the 
throat,  displaying  a  slender  white  neck  which 
upheld  a  face  of  pensive,  inert  beauty.  She 
clasped  in  her  arms  a  delicate  infant,  ethereal 
of  aspect  with  its  flaxen  hair,  transparently 
pallid  complexion,  and  wide  blue  eyes.  It 
was  absolutely  quiescent,  save  that  now  and 
then  it  turned  feebly  in  its  waxen  hands  a 
little  striped  red-and-yellow  pomegranate.  A 
sturdy  blond  toddler  trudged  behind,  in  a 
checked  blue  cotton  frock,  short  enough  to 
disclose  cherubic  pink  feet  and  legs  bare  to 
the  knee;  he  carried  that  treasure  of  rural 

310 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

juveniles,  a  cornstalk  violin.  An  old  hound, 
his  tail  suavely  wagging,  padded  along  the 
narrow  path ;  and  last  of  all  came,  with  fre 
quent  pause  to  crop  the  wayside  herbage,  a 
large  cow,  brindled  red  and  white. 

"The  whole  fambly !"  muttered  Kennedy. 
Then,  aloud,  "Why  don't  you  uns  kerry  the 
baby,  Basil  Bedell,  an'  give  yer  wife  a  rest?" 

At  the  prosaic  suggestion  the  crystal 
realm  of  dreams  was  shattered.  The  bow, 
with  a  quavering  discordant  scrape  upon  the 
strings,  paused.  Then  Bedell  slowly  mas 
tered  the  meaning  of  the  interruption. 

"Kerry  the  baby!  Why,  Aurely  won't 
let  none  but  herself  tech  that  baby."  He 
laughed  as  he  tossed  the  tousled  yellow  hair 
from  his  face,  and  looked  over  his  shoulder 
to  speak  to  the  infant.  "It  air  sech  a  plumb 
special  delightsome  peach,  it  air, — it  air ! ' ' 

The  pale  face  of  the  child  lighted  up  with 
a  smile  of  recognition  and  a  faint  gleam  of 
mirth. 

"I  jes'  kem  out  ennyhows  ter  drive  up  the 
cow,"  Basil  added. 

"Big  job,"  sneered  Kennedy.  "  'Pears- 
like  it  takes  the  whole  fambly  to  do  ft." 

Such  slothful  mismanagement  was  calcu- 

311 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

lated  to  affront  an  energetic  spirit.  Obvi 
ously,  at  this  hour  the  woman  should  be  at 
home  cooking  the  supper. 

"I  follered  along  ter  listen  ter  the  fiddle, 
— ef  ye  hev  enny  call  ter  know."  Mrs.  Be 
dell  replied  to  his  unspoken  thought,  as  if  by 
divination. 

But  indeed  such  strictures  were  not  heard 
for  the  first  time.  They  were  in  some  sort 
the  penalty  of  the  disinterested  friendship 
which  Kennedy  had  harbored  for  Basil  since 
their  childhood.  He  wished  that  his  com 
peer  might  prosper  in  such  simple  wise  as 
his  own  experience  had  proved  to  be  amply 
possible.  Kennedy's  earlier  incentive  to  in 
dustry  had  been  his  intention  to  marry,  but 
the  object  of  his  affections  had  found  him 
"too  mortal  solemn,"  and  without  a  word  of 
warning  had  married  another  man  in  a  dis 
tant  cove.  The  element  of  treachery  in  this 
event  had  gone  far  to  reconcile  the  jilted 
lover  to  his  future,  bereft  of  her  companion 
ship,  but  the  habit  of  industry  thus  formed 
had  continued  of  its  own  momentum.  It  had 
resulted  in  forehanded  thrift;  he  now  pos 
sessed  a  comfortable  holding, — cattle,  house, 

312 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

ample  land ;  and  lie  had  all  the  intolerance  of 
the  ant  for  the  cricket.  As  Bedell  lifted  the 
bow  once  more,  every  wincing  nerve  was  en 
listed  in  arresting  it  in  mid-air. 

"Mighty  long  tramp  fur  Bobbie,  thar, — 
why  n't  ye  kerry  him!" 

The  imperturbable  calm  still  held  fast  on 
the  musician's  face.  "Bob,"  he  addressed 
the  toddler,  "will  you  uns  let  daddy  kerry 
ye  like  a  baby?" 

He  swooped  down  as  if  to  lift,  the  child, 
the  violin  and  bow  in  his  left  hand.  The 
hardy  youngster  backed  off  precipitately. 

"Don't  ye  dare  ter  do  it!"  he  virulently 
admonished  his  parent,  a  resentful  light  in 
his  blue  eyes.  Then,  as  Bedell  sang  a  stave 
in  a  full  rich  voice,  "Bye-oh,  Baby!"  Bob 
vociferated  anew,  "Don't  you  begin  ter  dare 
do  it!"  every  inch  a  man  though  a  little  one. 

"That's  the  kind  of  a  fambly  I  hev  got," 
Basil  commented  easily.  "Wife  an'  boy  an' 
baby  all  walk  over  me, — plumb  stomp  on 
me!  Jes'  enough  lef  of  me  ter  play  the 
fiddle  a  leetle  once  in  a  while." 

' '  Mighty  nigh  all  the  while,  I  be  af  eared, ' ' 
Kennedy  corrected  the  phrase.  "How  did 

313 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

yer  corn  crap  turn  out?"  lie  asked,  as  he  too 
fell  into  line  and  the  procession  moved  on 
once  more  along  the  narrow  path. 

"Well  enough,"  said  Basil;  "we  uns  hev 
got  a  sufficiency. ' '  Then,  as  if  afraid  of  seem 
ing  boastful  he  qualified,  "Ye  know  I  hain't 
got  but  one  muel  ter  feed,  an'  the  cow  thar. 
My  sheep  gits  thar  pastur'  on  the  volunteer 
grass  'mongst  the  rocks,  an'  I  hev  jes'  got  a 
few  head  ennyhows." 

"But  why  hain't  ye  got  more,  Basil? 
Why  n't  ye  work  more  and  quit  wastin'  yer 
time  on  that  old  fool  fiddle?" 

The  limits  of  patience  were  reached.  The 
musician  fired  up.  "  'Kase,"  he  retorted,  "I 
make  enough.  I  hev  got  grace  enough  ter  be 
thankful  fur  sech  ez  be  vouchsafed  ter  me.  I 
ain't  wantin'  no  meraele." 

Kennedy  flushed,  following  in  silence 
while  the  musician  annotated  his  triumph  by 
a  series  of  gay  little  harmonics,  and  young 
Hopeful,  trudging  in  the  rear,  executed  a 
soundless  fantasia  on  the  cornstalk  fiddle 
with  great  brilliancy  of  technique. 

"You  uns  air  talkin'  'bout  whut  I  said  at 
the  meetin'  las'  month,"  Kennedy  observed 
at  length. 

314 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

"An'  so  be  all  the  mounting,"  Aurelia  in 
terpolated  with  a  sudden  fierce  joy  of  re 
proof. 

Kennedy  winced  visibly. 

* '  The  folks  all  'low  ez  ye  be  no  better  than 
an  onbeliever."  Aurelia  was  bent  on  driving 
the  blade  home.  "The  idee  of  axin'  fur  a 
meracle  at  this  late  day, — so  ez  ye  kin  be  sat 
isfied  in  yer  mind  ez  ye  hev  got  grace !  Prov 
idence,  though  merciful,  air  obleeged,  ter 
know  ez  sech  air  plumb  scandalous  an' 
redic'lous." 

"Why,  Aurely,  hesh  up,"  exclaimed  her 
husband,  startled  from  his  wonted  leniency. 
"I  hev  never  hearn  ye  talk  in  sech  a  key, — 
yer  voice  sounds  plumb  out  o'  tune.  I  be 
plumb  sorry,  Jube,  ez  I  spoke  ter  you  uns 
'bout  a  meracle  at  all.  But  I  war  consider  'ble 
nettled  by  yer  words,  ye  see, — 'kase  I  know  I 
be  a  powerful,  lazy,  shif 'less  cuss " 

"Ye  know  a  lie,  then,"  his  helpmate  in 
terrupted  promptly. 

"Why,  Aurely,  hesh  up, — ye — ye — woman, 
ye!"  he  concluded  injuriously.  Then  resum 
ing  his  remarks  to  Kennedy, 1 1 1  know  I  do  fool 
away  a  deal  of  my  time  with  the  fiddle " 

"The  sound  of  it  is  like  bread  ter  me,— 

315 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

I  couldn't  live  without  it,"  interposed  the  un- 
conquered  Aurelia.  "Sometimes  it  minds  me 
o'  the  singin'  o'  runnin'  water  in  a  lonesome 
place.  Then  agin  it  minds  me  o'  seein'  sun 
shine  in  a  dream.  An7  sometimes  it  be  sweet 
an'  high  an7  fur  off,  like  a  voice  from  the  sky, 
tellin'  what  no  mortial  ever  knowed  before, — 
an'  then  it  minds  me  o'  the  tune  them  angels 
sung  ter  the  shepherds  abidin'  in  the  fields. 
I  couldn't  live  without  it." 

"Woman, hold yer  jaw!"  Basil  proclaimed 
comprehensively.  Then,  renewing  his  expla 
nation  to  Kennedy,  "I  kin  see  that  I  don't 
purvide  fur  my  fambly  ez  I  ought  ter  do, 
through  hatin'  work  and  lovin'  to  play  the 
fiddle." 

"I  ain't  goin'  ter  hear  my  home  an'  hearth 
reviled."  Aurelia  laid  an  imperative  hand 
on  her  husband 's  arm.  ' '  Ye  know  ye  couldn  't 
make  more  out'n  sech  ground, — though  I 
ain't  faultin'  our  land,  neither.  We  uns  hev 
enough  an'  ter  spare,  all  we  need  an'  more 
than  we  deserve.  We  don't  need  ter  ax  a 
meracle  from  the  skies  ter  stay  our  souls  on 
faith,  nor  a  sign  ter  prove  our  grace." 

"Now,  now, stop,  Aurely ! — I  declar',  Jube 
I  dunno  what  made  me  lay  my  tongue  ter  sech 

316 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

a  word  ez  that  tliar  miser 'ble  benighted 
meracle!  I  be  powerful  sorry  I  hurt  yer 
feelin's,  Jube;  folks  seekin'  salvation  git 
mightily  mis-put  sometimes,  an' " 

"I  don't  want  ter  hear  none  o'  yer  views 
on  religion,"  Kennedy  interrupted  gruffly. 
An  apology  often  augments  the  sense  of  in 
jury.  In  this  instance  it  also  annulled  the 
provocation,  for  his  own  admission  put  Be 
dell  hopelessly  in  the  wrong.  "Ez  a  friend 
I  war  argufyin'  with  ye  agin'  yer  waste  o' 
time  with  that  old  fool  fiddle.  Ye  hev  got 
wife  an'  children,  an'  yit  not  so  well  off  in 
this  world's  gear  ez  me,  a  single  man.  I  mis 
doubts  ef  ye  hev  hunted  a  day  since  the  craps 
war  laid  by,  or  hev  got  a  pound  o'  jerked 
yenison  stored  up  fer  winter.  But  this  air 
yer  home," — he  pointed  upward  at  a  little 
clearing  beginning,  as  they  approached,  to  be 
visible  amidst  the  forest, — "an'  ef  ye  air  sat 
isfied  with  sech  ez  it  be,  that  comes  from 
laziness  stiddier  a  contented  sperit." 

With  this  caustic  saying  he  suddenly  left 
them,  the  procession  standing  silently  staring 
after  him  as  he  took  his  way  through  the 
woods  in  the  dusky  red  shadows  of  'the  au 
tumnal  gloaming. 

317 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

Aurelia's  vaunted  home  was  indeed  a 
poor  place, — not  even  the  rude  though  sub 
stantial  log-cabin  common  to  the  region.  It 
was  a  flimsy  shanty  of  boards,  and  except  for 
its  rickety  porch  was  more  like  a  box  than 
a  house.  It  had  its  perch  on  a  jutting 
eminence,  where  it  seemed  the  familiar  of  the 
skies,  so  did  the  clouds  and  winds  circle  about 
it.  Through  the  great  gateway  of  Sunrise 
Gap  it  commanded  a  landscape  of  a  scope 
that  might  typify  a  world,  in  its  multitude  of 
mountain  ranges,  in  the  intricacies  of  its  in 
tervening  valleys,  in  the  glittering  coils  of  its 
water-courses.  Basil  would  sometimes  sink 
(into  deep  silences,  overpowered  by  the 
majesty  of  nature  in  this  place.  After  a 
long  hiatus  the  bow  would  tremble  and  falter 
on  the  strings  as  if  overawed  for  a  time; 
presently  the  theme  would  strengthen,  ex 
pand,  resound  with  large  meaning,  and  then 
he  would  send  forth  melodies  that  he  had 
never  before  played  or  heard,  his  own  dream, 
the  reflection  of  that  mighty  mood  of  nature 
in  the  limpid  pool  of  his  receptive  mind. 

Around  were  rocks,  crags,  chasms, — the 
fields  which  nourished  the  family  lay  well 
from  the  verge,  within  the  purlieus  of  the 

318 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

limited  mountain  plateau.  He  had  sought  to 
persuade  himself  that  it  was  to  save  all  the 
arable  land  for  tillage  that  he  had  placed  his 
house  and  door-yard  here,  but  both  he  and 
Aurelia  were  secretly  aware  of  the  subter 
fuge;  he  would  fain  be  always  within  the 
glamour  of  the  prospect  through  Sunrise 
Gap! 

Their  interlocutor  had  truly  deemed  that 
the  woman  should  have  been  earlier  at  home 
cooking  the  supper.  Dusk  had  deepened  to 
darkness  long  before  the  meal  smoked  upon 
the  board.  The  spinning-wheel  had  begun  to 
whir  for  her  evening  stint  when  other  hill- 
folks  had  betaken  themselves  to  bed.  Basil 
puffed  his  pipe  before  the  fire ;  the  flicker  and 
flare  pervaded  every  nook  of  the  bright  little 
house.  Strings  of  red-pepper-pods  flaunted 
in  festoons  from  the  beams;  the  baby  slum 
bered  under  a  gay  quilt  in  his  rude  cradle, 
never  far  from  his  mother's  hand,  but  the 
bluff  little  boy  was  still  up  and  about, 
although  his  aspect,  round  and  burly,  in  a 
scanty  nightgown,  gave  token  of  recognition 
of  the  fact  that  bed  was  his  appropriate 
place.  His  shrill  plaintive  voice  rose  ever 
and  anon  wakefully. 

319 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

"I  wanter  hear  a  bear  tale, — I  wanter 
hear  a  bear  tale. ' ' 

Thus  Basil  must  needs  knock  the  ashes 
from  his  pipe  the  better  to  devote  himself 
to  the  narration, — a  prince  of  raconteurs,  to 
judge  by  the  spell-bound  interest  of  the 
youngster  who  stood  at  his  knee  and  hung 
on  his  words.  Even  Aurelia  checked  the 
whir  of  her  wheel  to  listen  smilingly.  She 
broke  out  laughing  in  appreciative  pleasure 
when  Basil  took  up  the  violin  to  show  how  a 
jovial  old  bear,  who  intruded  into  this  very 
house  one  day  when  all  the  family  were  away 
at.  the  church  in  the  cove,  and  who  mistook 
the  instrument  for  a  banjo,  addressed  himself 
to  picking  out  this  tune,  singing  the  while  a 
quaint  and  ursine  lay.  Basil  embellished  the 
imitation  with  a  masterly  effect  of  realistic 
growls. 

"Ef  ye  keep  goin'  at  that  gait,  Basil,'' 
Aurelia  admonished  him,  "daylight  will  ketch 
us  all  wide  awake  around  the  fire, — no  wonder 
the  child  won't  go  to  bed."  She  seemed  sud 
denly  impressed  with  the  pervasive  cheer. 
"What  a  fool  that  man,  Jube  Kennedy,  must 
be !  How  could  ennybody  hev  a  sweeter,  darl- 
inger  home  than  we  uns  hev  got  hyar  in  Sun 
rise  Gap!" 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

; 

On  the  languorous  autumn  a  fierce  winter 
ensued.  The  cold  came  early.  The  de 
ciduous  growths  of  the  forests  were  leafless 
ere  November  waned,  rifled  by  the  riotous 
marauding  winds.  December  set  in  with  the 
gusty  snow  flying  fast.  Drear  were  the  gray 
skies;  ghastly  the  sheeted  ranges.  Drifts 
piled  high  in  bleak  ravines,  and  the  grim 
gneissoid  crags  were  begirt  with  gigantic 
icicles.  But  about  the  little  house  in  Sun 
rise  G-ap  that  kept  so  warm  a  heart,  the  holly 
trees  showed  their  glad  green  leaves  and  the 
red  berries  glowed  with  a  mystic  significance. 

As  the  weeks  wore  on,  the  place  was  often 
in  Kennedy's  mind,  although  he  had  not 
seen  it  since  that  autumn  afternoon  when  he 
had  bestirred  himself  to  rebuke  its  owner  con 
cerning  the  inadequacies  of  the  domestic  pro 
vision.  His  admonition  had  been  kindly 
meant  and  had  not  deserved  the  retort,  the 
flippant  ridicule  of  his  spiritual  yearnings. 
Though  he  still  winced  from  the  recollection, 
he  was  sorry  that  he  had  resisted  the  impor- 
tunacy  of  Basil's  apology.  He  realized  that 
i  Aurelia  had  persisted  to  the  limit  of  her 
power  in  the  embitterment  of  the  contro 
versy,  but  even  Aurelia  he  was  disposed  to 
forgive  as  time  passed  on.  When  Christmas 

21  321 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

Day  dawned,  the  vague  sentiment  began  to 
assume  the  definiteness  of  a  purpose,  and 
noontide  found  him  on  his  way  to  Sunrise 
Gap. 

There  was  now  no  path  through  the 
woods ;  the  snow  lay  deep  over  all,  unbroken 
save  at  long  intervals  when  queer  footprints 
gave  token  of  the  stirring  abroad  of  the 
sylvan  denizens,  and  he  felt  an  idle  interest  in 
distinguishing  the  steps  of  wolf  and  fox,  of 
opossum  and  weasel.  In  the  intricacies  of 
the  forest  aisles,  amid  laden  boughs  of  pine 
and  fir,  there  was  a  suggestion  of  darkness, 
but  all  the  sky  held  not  enough  light  to  cast  the 
shadow  of  a  bole  on  the  white  blank  spaces  of 
the  snow-covered  ground.  A  vague  blue  haze 
clothed  the  air;  yet  as  he  drew  near  the 
mountain  brink,  all  was  distinct  in  the  vast 
landscape,  the  massive  ranges  and  alternat 
ing  valleys  in  infinite  repetition. 

He  wondered  when  near  the  house  that  he 
had  not  heard  the  familiar  barking  of  the  old 
hound;  then  he  remembered  that  the  sound 
of  his  horse's  hoofs  was  muffled  by  the  snow. 
He  was  glad  to  be  unheralded.  He  would 
like  to  surprise  Aurelia  into  geniality  before 
her  vicarious  rancor  for  Basil's  sake  should 

322 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

be  roused  anew.  As  he  emerged  from  the 
thick  growths  of  the  holly,  with  the  icy  scin 
tillations  of  its  clustering  green  leaves  and 
red  berries,  he  drew  rein  so  suddenly  that 
the  horse  was  thrown  back  on  his  haunches. 
The  rider  sat  as  if  petrified  in  the  presence 
of  an  awful  disaster. 

The  house  was  gone!  Even  the  site  had 
vanished!  Kennedy  stared  bewildered. 
Slowly  the  realization  of  what  had  chanced 
here  began  to  creep  through  his  brain.  Evi 
dently  there  had  been  a  gigantic  landslide. 
The  cliff -like  projection  was  broken  sheer 
off, — hurled  into  the  depths  of  the  valley. 
Some  action  of  subterranean  waters, 
throughout  ages,  doubtless,  had  been  under 
mining  the  great  crags  till  the  rocky  crust 
of  the  earth  had  collapsed.  He  could  see 
even  now  how  the  freeze  had  fractured  out 
cropping  ledges  where  the  ice  had  gathered 
in  the  fissures.  A  deep  abyss  that  he  remem 
bered  as  being  at  a  considerable  distance 
from  the  mountain's  brink,  once  spanned  by 
a  foot-bridge,  now  showed  the  remnant  of  its 
jagged,  shattered  walls  at  the  extreme  verge 
of  the  precipice. 

A  cold    chill    of    horror    benumbed    his 

323 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

senses.  Basil,  the  wife,  the  children, — 
where  were  they?  A  terrible  death,  surely, 
to  be  torn  from  the  warm  securities  of  the 
hearth-stone,  without  a  moment's  warning, 
and  hurled  into  the  midst  of  this  frantic  tur 
moil  of  nature,  down  to  the  depths  of  the 
gap, — a  thousand  feet  below!  And  at  what 
time  had  this  dread  fate  befallen  his  friend? 
He  remembered  that  at  the  cross-roads ' 
store,  when  he  had  paused  on  his  way  to 
warm  himself  that  morning,  some  gossip  was 
detailing  the  phenomenon  of  unseasonable 
thunder  duning  the  previous  night,  while 
others  protested  that  it  must  have  been  only 
the  clamors  of  "Christmas  guns"  firing  all 
along  the  country-side.  "A  turrible  clap, 
it  was,"  the  raconteur  had  persisted. 
"Sounded  ez  ef  all  creation  hed  split  apart." 
Perhaps,  therefore,  the  catastrophe  might  be 
recent.  Kennedy  could  scarcely  command 
his  muscles  as  he  dismounted  and  made  his 
way  slowly  and  cautiously  to  the  verge. 

Any  deviation  from  the  accustomed 
routine  of  nature  has  an  unnerving  effect, 
unparalleled  by  disaster  in  other  sort;  no 
individual  danger  or  doom,  the  aspect  of 
death  by  drowning,  or  gunshot,  or  disease, 

324 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

can  so  abash  the  reason  and  stultify  normal 
expectation.  Kennedy  was  scarcely  con 
scious  that  he  saw  the  vast  disorder  of  the 
landslide,  scattered  from  the  precipice  on 
the  mountain's  brink  to  the  depths  of  the 
Gap — inverted  roots  of  great  pines  thrust 
out  in  mid-air,  foundations  of  crags  riven 
asunder  and  hurled  in  monstrous  fragments 
along  the  steep  slant,  unknown  streams 
newly  liberated  from  the  caverns  of  the 
range  and  cascading  from  the  crevices  of 
the  rocks.  In  'effect  he  could  not  believe 
his  own  eyes.  His  mind  realized  the  per 
ception  of  his  senses  only  when  his  heart 
suddenly  plunged  with  a,  wild  hope, — he  had 
discerned  amongst  the  turmoil  a  shape  of 
line  and  rule,  the  little  box-like  hut !  Caught 
as  it  was  in  the  boughs  of  a  cluster  of  pines 
and  firs,  uprooted  and  thrust  out  at  an  in 
cline  a  little  less  than  vertical,  the  inmates 
might  have  been  spared  such  shock  of  the  fall 
as  would  otherwise  have  proved  fatal.  Had 
the  house  been  one  of  the  substantial  log- 
cabins  of  the  region  its  timbers  must  have 
been  torn  one  from  another,  the  daubing  and 
chinking  scattered  as  mere  atoms.  But  the 
more  flimsy  character  of  the  little  dwelling 

325 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

had  thus  far  served  to  save  it, — the  interde 
pendent  " framing77  of  its  structure  held  fast; 
the  upright  studding  and  boards,  nailed 
stoutly  on,  rendered  it  indeed  the  box  that 
it  looked.  It  was,  so  to  speak,  built  in  one 
piece,  and  no  part  was  subjected  to  greater 
strain  than  another.  But  should  the  earth 
cave  anew,  should  the  tough  fibres  of  one 
of  those  gigantic  roots  tear  out  from  the 
loosened  friable  soil,  should  the  elastic  sup 
porting  branches  barely  sway  in  some  errant 
gust  of  wind,  the  little  box  would  fall  hun 
dreds  of  feet,  cracked  like  a  nut,  shattering 
against  the  rocks  of  the  levels  below. 

He  wondered  if  the  inmates  yet  lived, — 
he  pitied  them  still  more  if  they  only  existed  to 
realize  their  peril,  to  await  in  an  anguish 
of  fear  their  ultimate  doom.  Perhaps — he 
felt  he  was  but  trifling  with  despair — some 
rescue  might  be  devised. 

Such  a  weird  cry  he  set  up  on  the  brink 
of  the  mountain! — full  of  horror,  grief,  and 
.that  poignant  hope.  The  echoes  of  the  Gap 
seemed  reluctant  to  repeat  the  tones,  dull, 
slow,  muffled  in  snow.  But  a  sturdy  halloo 
responded  from  the  window,  uppermost  now, 
for  the  house  lay  on  its  side  amongst  the 

326 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

boughs.  Kennedy  thought  he  saw  the  pallid 
simulacrum  of  a  face. 

"This  be  Jube  Kennedy/'  he  cried,  reas 
suringly.  "I  be  goin'  ter  fetch  help, — men, 
ropes,  and  a  windlass." 

'  '  Make  haste  then, — we  uns  be  nigh  friz. ' ' 

"Ye  air  in  no  danger  of  fire,  then?"  asked 
the  practical  man. 

"We  hev  hed  none, — before  we  war 
flunged  oiPn  the  bluff  we  hed  squinched  the 
fire  ter  pledjure  Bob,  ez  he  war  afeard  Santy 
Glaus  would  scorch  his  feet  comin'  down  the 
chimbley, — powerful  lucky  fur  we  uns;  the 
fire  would  hev  burnt  the  house  bodaciously." 

Kennedy  hardly  stayed  to  hear.  He  was 
off  in  a  moment,  galloping  at  frantic  speed 
along  the  snowy  trail  scarcely  traceable  in 
the  sad  light  of  the  gray  day;  taking  short 
cuts  through  the  densities  of  the  laurel ;  torn 
by  jagged  rocks  and  tangles  of  thorny 
growths  and  broken  branches  of  great  trees ; 
plunging  now  and  again  into  deep  drifts 
above  concealed  icy  chasms,  and  rescuing 
with  inexpressible  difficulty  the  floundering, 
struggling  horse;  reaching  again  the  open 
sheeted  roadway,  bruised,  bleeding,  ex 
hausted,  yet  furiously  plunging  forward, 

327 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

rousing  the  sparsely  settled  country-side 
with  imperative  insistence  for  help  in  this 
matter  of  life  or  death! 

Death,  indeed,  only, — for  the  enterprise 
was  pronounced  impossible  by  those  more 
experienced  than  Kennedy.  Among  the  men 
now  on  the  bluff  were  several  who  had  been 
employed  in  the  silver  mines  of  this  region, 
and  they  demonstrated  conclusively  that  a 
rope  could  not  be  worked  clear  of  the  obstruc 
tions  of  the  face  of  the  rugged  and  shattered 
cliffs;  that  a  human  being,  drawn  from  the 
cabin,  strapped  in  a  chair,  must  needs  be  torn 
from  it  and  flung  into  the  abyss  below,  or 
beaten  to  a  frightful  death  against  the 
jagged  rocks  in  the  transit. 

"But  not  ef  the  chair  war  ter  be  steadied 
by  a  guy-rope  from — say — from  that  thar  old 
pine  tree  over  thar,"  Kennedy  insisted,  in 
dicating  the  long  bole  of  a  partially  Uprooted 
and  inverted  tree  on  the  steeps.  "The  chair 
would  swing  cl'ar  of  the  bluff  then." 

"But,  Jube,  it  is  onpossible  ter  git  a  guy- 
rope  over  ter  that  tree, — more  than  a  man's 
life  is  wuth  ter  try  it." 

A  moment  ensued  of  absolute  silence, — 
space,  however,  for  a  hard-fought  battle. 

328 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

The  aspect  of  that  mad  world  below,  with 
every  condition  of  creation  reversed;  a  mis 
take  in  the  adjustment  of  the  winch  and  gear 
by  the  excited,  reluctant,  disapproving  men; 
an  overstrain  on  the  fibres  of  the  long-used 
rope ;  a  slip  on  the  treacherous  ice ;  the  dizzy 
whirl  of  the  senses  that  even  a  glance  down 
ward  at  those  drear  depths  set  astir  in  the 
brain, — all  were  canvassed  within  his  mental 
processes,  all  were  duly  realized  in  their  en 
tirety  ere  he  said  with  a  spare  dull  voice 
and  dry  lips, — 

"Fix  ter  let  me  down  ter  that  thar  leanin' 
pine,  boys, — I  '11  kerry  a  guy-rope  over  thar. ' ' 

At  one  side  the  crag  beetled,  and  although 
it  was  impossible  thence  to  reach  the  cabin 
with  a  rope  it  would  swing  clear  of  obstruc 
tions  here,  and  might  bring  the  rescuer 
within  touch  of  the  pine,  where  could  be 
fastened  the  guy-rope;  the  other  end  would 
be  affixed  to  the  chair  which  could  be  lowered 
to  the  cabin  only  from  the  rugged  face  of 
the  cliff.  Kennedy  harbored  no  self-decep 
tion;  he  more  than  doubted  the  outcome  of 
the  enterprise.  He  quaked  and  turned  pale 
with  dread  as  with  the  great  rope  knotted 
about  his  arm-pits  and  around  his  waist  he 

329 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

was  swung  over  the  brink  at  the  point  where 
the  crag  jutted  forth, — lower  and  lower  still ; 
now  nearing  the  slanting  inverted  pine, 
caught  amidst  the  debris  of  earth  and  rock; 
now  failing  to  reach  its  boughs;  once  more 
swinging  back  to  a  great  distance,  so  did  the 
length  of  the  rope  increase  the  scope  of  the 
pendulum;  now  nearing  the  pine  again, 
and  at  last  fairly  lodged  on  the  icy 
bole,  knotting  and  coiling  about  it  the  end 
of  the  guy-rope,  on  which  he  had  come  and 
on  which  he  must  needs  return. 

It  seemed,  through  the  inexpert  handling 
of  the  little  group,  a  long  time  before  the 
stout  arm-chair  was  secured  to  the  cables, 
slowly  lowered,  and  landed  at  last  on  the 
outside  of  the  hut.  Many  an  anxious  glance 
was  cast  at  the  slate-gray  sky.  An  inop 
portune  flurry  of  snow,  a  flaw  of  wind, — and 
even  now  all  would  be  lost.  Dusk  too  im 
pended,  and  as  the  rope  began  to  coil  on  the 
windlass  at  the  signal  to  hoist  every  eye  was 
strained  to  discern  the  identity  of  the  first 
voyagers  in  this  aerial  journey, — the  two 
children,  securely  lashed  to  the  chair.  This 
was  well, — all  felt  that  both  parents  might 
best  wait,  might  risk  the  added  delay.  The 
chair  came  swinging  easily,  swiftly,  along 

330 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

the  gradations  of  the  rise,  the  guy-rope  hold 
ing  it  well  from  the  chances  of  contact  with 
the  jagged  projections  of  the  face  of  the 
cliff,  and  the  first  shout  of  triumph  rang 
sonorously  from  the  summit. 

When  next  the  chair  rested  on  the  cabin 
beside  the  window,  a  thrill  of  anxiety  and 
anger  went  through  Kennedy's  heart  to  note, 
from  his  perch  on  the  leaning  pine,  a  struggle 
between  husband  and  wife  as  to  who  should 
go  first.  Each  was  eager  to  take  the  many 
risks  incident  to  the  long  wait  in  this  pre 
carious  lodgment.  The  man  was  the 
stronger.  Aurelia  was  forced  into  the  chair, 
tied  fast,  pushed  off,  waving  her  hand  to  her 
husband,  shedding  floods  of  tears,  looking 
at  him  for  the  last  time,  as  she  fancied,  and 
calling  out  dismally,  "Far 'well,  Basil,  far'- 
well." 

Even  this  lugubrious  demonstration  could 
not  damp  the  spirits  of  the  men  working  like 
mad  at  the  windlass.  They  were  jovial 
enough  for  bursts  of  laughter  when  it  became 
apparent  that  Basil  had  utilized  the  ensuing 
interval  to  tie  together,  in  preparation  for 
the  ascent  with  himself,  the  two  objects  which 
he  next  most  treasured,  his  violin  and  his 
old  hound.  The  trusty  chair  bore  all  aloft, 

331 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

and  Basil  was  received  with  welcoming  ac 
clamations. 

Before  the  rope  was  wound  anew  and 
for  the  last  time,  the  aspect  of  the  group  on 
the  cliff  had  changed.  It  had  grown  eerie, 
indistinct.  The  pines  and  firs  showed  no 
longer  their  sempervirent  green,  but  were 
black  amid  the  white  tufted  lines  on  their 
branches,  that  still  served  to  accentuate  their 
symmetry.  The  vale  had  disappeared  in  a 
sinister  abyss  of  gloom,  though  Kennedy 
would  not  look  down  at  its  menace,  but  up 
ward,  always  upward.  Thus  he  saw,  like 
some  radiant  and  splendid  star,  the  first 
torch  whitely  aglow  on  the  brink  of  the  preci 
pice.  It  opened  long  avenues  of  light  adown 
the  snowy  landscape, — soft  blue  shadows 
trailed  after  it,  like  half-descried  draperies 
of  elusive  hovering  beings.  Soon  the  torch 
was  duplicated;  another  and  then  another 
began  to  glow.  Now  several  drew  together, 
and  like  a  constellation  glimmered  crown- 
like  on  the  brow  of  the  night,  as  he  felt  the 
rope  stir  with  the  signal  to  hoist. 

Upward,  always  upward,  his  eyes  on  that 
radiant  stellular  coronal,  as  it  shone  white 
and  splendid  in  the  snowy  night.  And  now 
it  had  lost  its  mystic  glamour, — disin- 

332 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

tegrated  by  gradual  approach  lie  could  see 
the  long  handles  of  the  pine-knots;  the  red 
verges  of  the  flame ;  the  blue  and  yellow  tones 
of  the  focus;  the  trailing  wreaths  of  dun- 
tinted  smoke  that  rose  from  them.  Then 
became  visible  the  faces  of  the  men  who  held 
them,  all  crowding  eagerly  to  the  verge. 
But  it  was  in  a  solemn  silence  that  he  was  re 
ceived;  a  drear  cold  darkness,  every  torch 
being  stinick  downward  into  the  snowj,  a 
frantic  haste  in  unharnessing  him  from  the 
ropes,  for  he  was  almost  frozen.  He  was 
hardly  apt  enough  to  interpret  this  as  an 
emotion  too  deep  for  words,  but  now  and 
again,  as  he  was  disentangled,  he  felt  about 
his  shoulders  a  furtive  hug,  and  more  than 
one  pair  of  the  ministering  hands  milst  needs 
pause  to  wring  his  own  hands  hard.  They 
practically  carried  him  to  a  fire  that  had 
been  built  in  a  sheltered  place  in  one  of 
those  grottoes  of  the  region,  locally  called 
"Bock-houses."  Its  cavernous  portal  gave 
upon  a  dark  interior,  and  not  until  they  had 
turned  a  corner  in  a  tunnel-like  passage  was 
revealed  an  arched  space  in  a  rayonnant 
suffusion  of  light,  the  fire  itself  obscured 
by  the  figures  about  it.  His  eyes  were 
caught  first  by  the  aspect  of  a  youthful 

333 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  MIRACLE 

mother  with  a  golden-haired  babe  on  her 
breast;  close  by  showed  the  head  and  horns 
of  a  cow;  the  mule  was  mercifully  sheltered 
too,  and  stood  near,  munching  his  fodder ;  a 
cluster  of  sheep  pressed  after  the  steps  of 
half  a  dozen  men,  that  somehow  in  the  clare- 
obscure  reminded  him  of  the  shepherds  of 
old  summoned  by  good  tidings  of  great  joy. 

A  sudden  figure  started  up  with  stream 
ing  white  hair  and  patriarchal  beard. 

"Will  ye  deny  ez  ye  hev  hed  a  sign  from 
the  heavens,  Jubal  Kennedy  ?"  the  old  cir 
cuit-rider  straitly  demanded.  "How  could 
ye  hev  strengthened  yer  heart  fur  sech  a 
deed  onless  the  grace  o'  God  prevailed 
mightily  within  ye?  Inasmuch  as  ye  hev 
done  it  unto  one  o'  the  least  o'  these  my 
brethern,  ye  hev  done  it  unto  me." 

"That  ain't  the  kind  o'  sign,  parson, " 
Kennedy  faltered.  "I  be  lookin'  fur  a 
meracle  in  the  yearth  or  in  the  air,  that  I 
kin  view  or  hear." 

"The  kingdom  o'  Christ  is  a  spiritual 
kingdom,"  said  the  parson  solemnly.  "The 
kingdom  o'  Christ  is  a  spiritual  kingdom, 
an'  great  are  the  wonders  that  are  wrought 
therein." 

334 


A  NOVEL  OF  THE  REAL  WEST 

"ME— SMITH" 

By  CAROLINE  LOCKHART 

With  five  illustrations  by  Gayle  Hoskins 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.20  net. 


LOCKHART  is  a  true  daughter  of  the  West, 
her  father  being  a  large  ranch-owner  and  she  has 
had  much  experience  in  the  saddle  and  among  the  people 
who  figure  in  her  novel,  d  "  Smith  "  is  one  type  of  Western 
"  Bad  Man,"  an  unusually  powerful  and  appealing  char 
acter  who  grips  and  holds  the  reader  through  all  his 
deeds,  whether  good  or  bad.  fl  It  is  a  story  with  red 
blood  in  it.  There  is  the  cry  of  the  coyote,  the  deadly 
thirst  for  revenge  as  it  exists  in  the  wronged  Indian  to 
ward  the  white  man,  the  thrill  of  the  gaming  table,  and 
the  gentlenesss  of  pure,  true  love.  To  the  very  end  the 
tense  dramatism  of  the  tale  is  maintained  without  relax 
ation. 

:    "  Gripping,  vigorous  story." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 
"  This  is  a  real  novel,  a  big  novel." — Indianapolis  News. 

"  Not  since  the  publication  of  *  The  Virginian '  has  so  powerful  a 
cowboy  story  been  told." — Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

"  A  remarkable  book  in  its  strength^  of  portrayal  and  its  directness 
of  development.  It  cannot  be  read  without  being  remembered." — The 
World  To-Day. 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  PHILADELPHIA 


SEP  15   1932 


NOV  28  193 


6May'57CB 


'D  LD 

APR  2  5  1957 


358621 


